


Gold Collar

by JSwander



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anakin gets Pretty Woman'd, Bottom Anakin Skywalker, Enthusiastic Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24471727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JSwander/pseuds/JSwander
Summary: The Clone Wars have ended, Palpatine is no more. High General Obi-Wan Kenobi meets a remarkable slave of the Hutts during a diplomatic mission to Tattooine.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 192
Kudos: 881
Collections: SW Especially Satisfying Stories





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still relatively new to Clone Wars / Expanded Universe, so I definitely took some liberties with the Hutt's palace for this fic!

“And we need it done by _tomorrow._ ”

“Oh, come _on_ Rumo!” Anakin leaned back in his chair with a snarl, aghast at the pile of scrap before him. “I'm way behind as it is, and look at that! The thruster's _mangled_ , the only place we're going to get a replacement for that gaudy disgrace of a speeder is from Barobi in Mos Eisley!”

“You mean _you_ are gonna get a replacement in Mos Eisley.” The besalisk laughed, jeering. “I'm clocking out early today.”

  


“Early,” Anakin fumed. “I haven't seen you work past noon since I was ten.”

“And I _ain't_ starting now!”

Anakin ducked Rumo's meaty fist taking a swing at his head, lightly stepping out of range.

“Yeah, yeah I'm going.” He held up his hands in placation.

“That's _right_ you are. And you'll be grateful too I haven't volunteered you to entertain the Rancor for all the lip you've given me over the years.”

  


Anakin rolled his eyes, pulling a threadbare, road-worn poncho on over his shoulders. They both knew the threats were empty. The Hutt's chief mechanic hadn't worked on anything more complicated than his breakfast in years, instead piling everything onto the slave boy they'd acquired on a whim after he stood out at the pod-racing championships.

  


Watto retired early on the boon, and Anakin had even managed to wrangle his mother's freedom into the trade deal. Currently, she was living quite happily, remarried on a moisture farm.

They had a son together.

  


Everyone was happy.

It was fine.

  


  


Anakin ducked out of his cramped mechanic shop and into the larger garage, mounting his speeder. It wasn't much to look at – a conglomeration of secondhand parts and scrap over the years. However, working for the Hutts did have some advantages. Years of parts going missing here and there, squirreling away what he knew wasn't going to be missed had allowed him to cultivate one powerful machine beneath the hood.

  


Anakin tore out of the shop and across the desert dunes at a breakneck pace, relishing in the feel of the wind in his face and adrenaline coursing through his veins. Typically, he couldn't wait for the days that involved getting out of the Hutt's palace. But that wrecked speeder in the garage had him feeling nauseous. It was going to be a long night.

  


* * *

  


He saw the vapor-thin cloud of smoke as he approached Mos Eisley. As he rose over the dunes, Anakin's eyes could track it to what looked like another wreck (couldn't _anyone_ drive these things properly?) with a surprising crowd mingling about.

  


Anakin really didn't have time to be gawking, but he nearly totaled his own ride when he caught a glimpse of the machine.

  


It was a sleek, beautiful thing. It was the kind of ship that belonged on a poster, not sitting here in the sand on this garbage Planet. Anakin parked his speeder, darting over to join the crowd as if

directed by a gravitational pull.

  


“Ah, yes a _thousand_ apologies most esteemed General Kenobi. We are but a humble planet on the Outer Rim. It will not be easy – or cheap – to get the parts to fix such a magnificent ship.”

  


Barobi, the chirashi scrap merchant was speaking to an impeccable looking stranger in fine, light armor. Well suited for the dessert, but far too pristine to used to it.

  


Nobody really was watching the beautiful, broken, once-in-a-lifetime ship.

  


“I assure you money is no object. How long will it take to get the parts that we need?”

“Well, ordinarily perhaps a few weeks?”

“We do not _have_ a few weeks, I'm afraid.” The man's voice was stern.

  


Anakin sidled up to the ship, letting his fingertips run over the sleek casing.

“Are you an angel?” He murmured, in playful awe.

  


“Ah yes, I may know some contacts who could move things around. Of course it would be quite the financial imposition on their business...”

  


Anakin slipped under the ship into the open hull that had been exposed to the assess the damage to the interior.

“You poor thing.” He crooned to the ship's interior, tugging out a poorly placed converter. It hadn't been properly sealed. In a city or a more respectable planet, it'd take years for any detritus to build up to an extent that it would cause a problem. On this sandy hellscape, it'd manage to do just that in a manner of hours.

Typical.

  


Fifteen minutes later, the General and Barobi had managed to come to an agreement. Anakin popped up from under the hood. Grease up to his elbows, looking immensely satisfied.

  


“She's fixed!”

  


“HALT!”

  


Anakin's smile froze as he suddenly found himself staring down the end of half a dozen blasters. He coughed, gesturing awkwardly.

  


“She'll get you to where you're going, at least. Anyone who knows their way around a wrench can get you a proper patch with some standard sealant.”

“...Who are you?” The General turned to him, eyes narrowed.

“He's a troublemaker, shoot him!” Barobi snarled immediately.

“Yeah? Explain that one to the Hutts, _poodoo._ ” Anakin snapped back, hands on his hips.

  


“You work for the Hutts? He had the General's full attention now.

“In a sense.” Anakin said with a thin smile.

  


The auburn-haired dignitary stroked his beard, looking curious and thoughtful.

“The very clan we're on our way to convene with. What a fortuitous coincidence.” He approached Anakin on the far side of the speeder. He moved with an easy, feline grace. Anakin dimly registered that he must have been slightly shorter than himself, but it was almost impossible to properly register. His eyes were deep and clear. All at once Anakin felt disarmed, possessed. He was struck by the inexplicable desire to fall to his knees in fealty.

  


“What is your name?”

“Anakin Skywalker. You're a general?”

“In a sense.” He said with a polite smile that made Anakin suspect he'd just been made the butt of some very clever joke. His insides fluttered.

  


“Do you work on many Class 5 Royal cruisers at the Hutt's fortress, Anakin?”

“I don't even know what that is.” Anakin laughed brightly. “But I do know that power converters tend to all have the same kinds problems under the hood. That, and she's the most beautiful ship I've ever seen.” Anakin said wistfully, looking over the hull again with soft eyes.

“I should say so.” General Kenobi said quietly. He smiled. “It seems we're in your debt, Anakin. Allow us to repay the favor. Would you like to ride with us back to your Master's fortress?”

Anakin let out a bark of laughter before he could stop himself, doubly pleased that it seemed to ever-so-briefly throw the handsome stranger's composure.

  


“Ah, you have no idea how much I'd love that.” He shook his head, beaming up at Kenobi. “But that pissed-off Chistori is the same guy I need to shake down for some engine parts. That won't be easy to do having just cost him what would have been two year's worth of pay, by the sound of it.”

“How unfortunate.” Kenobi lamented. “I'll have to find some other means to do so, I imagine.”

“There's no need, really!” Anakin pinked, suddenly a bit overwhelmed by the attention. He smiled, backing away as he spoke. “It was pleasure enough just to work on your craft, and you know – not get shot through by blasters.”

  


In the time that they spoke, a larger crowd had formed. There was not much to see on any given day in Mos Eisley, and the people were naturally curious. Anakin used his advantage to duck back into the crowd, slipping between pressed shoulders and letting himself become unknown once again.

  


When he was a few streets over, he allowed himself to breathe.

  


Getting under the hood of a ship that fine had been a treat. But over the years he had come to associate attention from authority figures as a precursor to punishment. Good work was rewarded with anonymity and reprieve, which he'd come to cherish. The General's gaze was something akin to this, but a bit different.

  


He felt... electric.

  


* * *

  


In the end, it had taken several exchanged shouts and a few rather un-subtle threats to get the parts he needed from Barobi when he managed to track him down. The man could hate Anakin all he wanted, but while he worked for the most powerful clan in the system all he could do at the end of the day was give the mechanic a measure of grief.

  


The suns were low by the time Anakin returned to the shop.

He unloaded the speeder and mirthlessly tore at his ration portion as he circled and assessed the damage.

There was no way around it. Forget the evening, this was going to take a _miracle._

He rolled up his sleeves and set to work.

  


All-nighters were nothing terribly new to Anakin. What he hated far more was the following day, when he was sandy-eyed and slow-minded. He had a furious suspicion that Rumo didn't go out of his way to avoid putting Anakin in those situations specifically because he was so much easier to cow when he could barely keep his head upright.

Fortunately, the day's work was light and he was able to steal a few catnaps without Rumo noticing. One in particular was seized while the silk merchant's fat son heaped praises on the master for being able to fix the speeder before anyone found out what he had done.

  


By the following evening, Anakin was feeling better.

He climbed onto the roof of his shop. From here, he could crane his head up and make out the night sky from beneath the towers of the Hutt's palace. The steady thumping bass and distant trill of music could be heard, not well enough to make out any distinct melody. The night air was heavy and thick, and a bit stale for want of a breeze.

Anakin chewed disinterestedly on his quarter-portion of the day's rations, watching the sky. Scattered corners and edges of fireworks could be snatched here and there, where the light filtered down. While he couldn't quite see the full shape, Anakin could appreciate how they cast the night sky in brief blooms of colored light.

  


He wondered if his mother could see them too.

  


Certainly the regal General could. Anakin let his mind drift away from his mother to the far more pleasant recent memory of the charming stranger with the cool demeanor and clear eyes. The entire party was likely in his honor, after all. He emanated too much power and distinction to not be someone of grand importance. 

  


At this moment, he was probably up there - all the way at the top of those high towers, watching the full display. He would be able to see it all in its proper glory – fiery petals of roses in the sky, scatterings of emerald and blue. He was one of those men whose entire lives were illuminated, sparks scattering and following in the wake they left behind.

  


Although the fireworks would continue on into the night, Anakin returned to his workshop, squeezing between some busted droids to his work bench to his special project.

Ever since Rumo dumped that dismal speeder onto his lap, he'd been eager to finish and get back to this.

  


Anakin wiped his fingers off on a rag, in a futile attempt to clean them.

  


A beautiful ornate box sat waiting on his bench. Carved from a single piece of dark wood, inlaid with gold and jade. Curling vines and small impish creatures beautifully carved beneath a gleaming finish. Its intricate loveliness was quite thoroughly out of place here, in Anakin's dingy and cluttered shop. It wasn't something he should even be allowed to touch, and yet...

  


He picked up the broken clockwork of the music box along with his most delicate tools, setting about to work in fixing the drum.

  


The box belonged to one of the gold collars, one of he pleasure slaves in the Hutt's palace. Anakin had even gotten to see her, having been called out to meet with the count who had summoned him to fix his pet's treasure.

  


He had seen her type before. Trailing after their masters in the palace, lounging on pillows our comfortable beds in lush quarters. Like the others, she had been elegant and lovely. Her skin was pale and flawlessly smooth, dark hair soft and shiny. Every inch of her was covered in fine jewelry, glittering gems set in elegant frames. The plainest thing about her had arguably had been the mark of her station – the gold band that she wore around her neck.

  


Anakin tightened a cog, testing the wheel.

They were ridiculous, of course. The gold collars. Everyone thought so.

Pretty things that traded their youth and dignity for a few years of luxury before being cast aside. Really, he was better off where he was. His life may not be easy or glamorous, but it was stable. Rumo – Jabba even, would be hard pressed to find a replacement for the work that he did.

  


He wasn't going anywhere.

He'd be here for years.

He'd probably die here.

  


Anakin shook his head, taking a deep breath.

He really needed to get some droids in here to help him out, at least to give him someone- something to talk to.

  


He slid the last minuscule bolt into place on the music box.

Done.

  


Anakin wound it up, testing to see if it would work. The wheel spun and a gentle lilting melody began to play.

Anakin's heart seized.

He knew that song.

  


Anakin closed his eyes. He could see his mother so clearly, sitting at his bedside, singing to him. It'd been years, but he could remember how she smelt, how it felt when she stroked his hair and comforted him when he couldn't sleep through the night.

  


_I'll bring you gold, I'll bring you jewels_

_and shield you in fine armor._

_Don't fear the dark, don't fret the storm_

_While you lay beside me._

  


The box only played the first two verses before looping around again to the beginning. Still, Anakin listened – transfixed - while it ran its course. When it tinkered to a steady halt, he tried to awkwardly hum the remaining lines, but found he couldn't recall.

  


How did it go? It had been so long ago.

  


Anakin re-wound the music box, closing his eyes and resting his head in his arm. In one hand, he cradled the box carefully.

When the song ran out, he wound it again.

In the morning, he'd return the box to the gold collar. This lovely thing didn't belong here with him.

He wound the box again, letting his mind drift off.

Just for tonight, he could let himself have this.

  


A brief bloom of light.

  


* * *

  


“I said, get _up!”_

Anakin yelped. Rumo had seized his short ponytail, using it to drag him bodily off of his chair and the workbench he had fallen asleep on. Anakin swore angrily as he hit the floor, his body sore from falling asleep hunched over on his chair.

“Useless! What did I do to deserve such an lazy brat of a servant? We have _important_ visitors. Make yourself _useful_ or make yourself _gone-”_

  


“I do hope I'm not interrupting.”

  


Anakin looked up from where he was on the oil-stained floor. Legs akimbo, hair wild, and a trail of drool halfway down to his neck. Above him, the impeccable General stood, arms behind his back looking down on the scene with disdain.

Anakin's cheeks burned. He scrambled to his feet, scrubbing his face with his sleeve.

  


“Not at all, Grand General Kenobi! My assistant here was just getting started on some errands,” He shoved at Anakin's chest with one hand, two others gesticulating grandly to the aristocrat. “We'll have that – what was it?”

“Converters.”

“Converters! Fixed in no time at all!”

  


Anakin kept his eyes carefully averted from General Kenobi. He snatched up the music box and ducked out into the main garage.

The beautiful angel of a cruiser was docked there. Anakin let his fingers trail fondly across the hull, catching himself humming a few lines of his mother's remembered lullaby.

  


He wound the music box again as he went down the hall, through the hatch that led to the wide crawlspace that constituted his living quarters. Technically, he was meant to bunk with the other slaves. It would have been a bit roomier there, but Anakin preferred the trade-in for the luxury of a little privacy. The vents kept the space relatively warm at night and cool during the day, and it was a safe enough place to curl up and catch his snatches of sleep here and there when he wasn't dozing off in the shop.

  


In a basin of water, Anakin took a small, measured portion of detergent stolen from the kitchens. It was the only thing that really helped to remove the motor oil. Most days, there was no point in bothering. Water was precious on these parts of Tattooine. While the Hutts had more than they knew what to do with, the same luxury didn't extend to their staff – especially those who were meant to remain out of sight. On a day-to-day basis he certainly wasn't going to waste half his morning's ration trying to clean fingers that were just going to get dirtied all over again.

  


Still, he had a music box to return. That, and the lingering shame of General Kenobi's scrutiny made him feel a bit of personal attention was warranted.

  


Anakin managed to get most off of his hands, and even attempted to scrub a bit at his blackened fingernails. In the beaten sheet of metal that served as a mirror he did his best to address any remaining smudges on his face and neck. He re-did his short ponytail, and fished out the cleanest tunic he could find.

  


It wasn't much (it really wasn't) but at least it would help reduce some of the stares he would get walking down the halls of the upper floors.

  


* * *

  


In the higher levels of the palace, wide open windows with gauzy curtains let the air in and allowed the halls to breathe. Anakin didn't notice until those rare occasions where he left his shop. He took a deep breath as he walked, allowing himself a quiet moment to relish the feel of properly full lungs.

  


The corridors were wide, with colorful plants in terracotta vases artfully placed about.

He traced his steps carefully for the quarters of the visiting count who had commissioned his help.

  


He found him just as the man was striding out with two other trade federation associates. Anakin opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off at once.

  


“Leave it inside and _touch nothing._ ” The man hissed, not slowing down. They disappeared around the corner and out of sight.

Anakin fiddled with the music box, eyeing the open door warily.

  


Like most of the lodgings in this level of the palace, the man's room was opulent. Sprawling rooms with high, frescoed ceilings that arched to wide windows that let in the light and air. Elegant furniture artfully arranged around vases, small sculptures in bronze and other lovely curiosities. The air was gently fragranced wit jasmine. Low carved tables were piled high with fruit and delicate pastries with glazed tops that caused them to gleam like jewels.

  


Anakin's stomach snarled.

_Touch nothing._

  


He tore his eyes away and spotted a low table through an archway leading into the bedroom, figuring that as good a spot as any to leave the box. It was covered by a runner of gold silk, but apart from this had space available that was not already covered with delicacies or treasures.

  


His fingers itched to wind it one last time, but the silence here was heavy, as if aware of his intrusion.

It was alright. He had the memory of the song back, part of it anyway.

That was enough.

  


Anakin stood, his eyes giving a final sweep around the lovely room, when he spotted it on a vanity in the corner of the room, sitting on a purple silk cushion.

  


A band of gold, artfully arcing into a 'v' at the base of the throat. Anakin followed a gentle, unknowable tug over to the artifact, mesmerized.

He wasn't sure what caused him to reach out and pick it up. Perhaps he just wanted to admire the work. How the clasp was configured to make it look seamless. It was heavier than he expected, the cast perfect and flawlessly tempered.

  


Maybe he just wanted to hold something beautiful.

Maybe he wanted to be beautiful.

  


He wanted to know what it was like to sleep until he was no longer tired. To have access to so much food he could leave it lying about like a part of the furniture. To have someone who comforted him and fixed his lovely things when they were broken. Because his happiness was important.

  


Even artificial and temporary and crushing.

A silly thing to want.

Because he wasn't beautiful. He was filthy and smelled like engine oil and burnt metal. He was too course to be lovely and too threadbare to be handsome.

He had his lot in life. It wasn't a bad one.

What was he doing?

  


“What are you _doing_?” The collar-less gold collar had stepped out of the fresher in only a towel, looking at Anakin with revulsion and rage.

“I can explain,”

“ _Guards!”_

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anakin's lullaby is to the tune of 'For the Dancing and the Dreaming' from HHTYD2  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G0AgkDJ2NHg


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In hindsight, I wish I had included at least half of this in Chapter 1. Well, what can you do ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left kudos and comments and encouraged this very self indulgent bit of fluff.

Really, this entire mission should have been beneath him.

Obi-Wan had too much work to do, too much to manage. The Clone Wars had only so recently ended, and with them his life as the Hand to the Empress had only just begun. At least when he was out on the battlefield, sleep was properly recognized as a precious resource. Without it, men became sloppy and unfocused. Good soldiers died.

Immersed in the world of politicians, sleepless nights were practically seen as a rite of passage – or more ridiculously, some kind of badge of distinction.

Still, he couldn't deny Padme's point. It was better to meet with the Hutts now. Largely neutral during the war, they could be a wary ally, or else fester in the relative anonymity of the Outer Rim, creating alliances and untraceable disturbances that could be the bane of his existence (and the source of far more sleepless nights) for years to come.

Such was how Obi-Wan Kenobi, Grand General of the Empire and Hand to the Empress Queen Padme Amidala found himself on Tattooine, suddenly presented a refreshingly beautiful young man dressed in rags with striking eyes.

* * *

Anakin was hauled unceremoniously through the palace, down where the walls became wide and high to the center hall where Jabba himself did most of his business.

The music and revelry was cut short as he was flung before the Hutt onto the grated doors above the Rancor pit. His heart lurched, fingers curling around the grate.

Somewhere above him, the count was angrily regaling to Jabba of how his personal gold collar slave had caught Anakin mid-theft, his words cleverly vague and carrying implication that she had very nearly survived attempted assault and injury at his hands as well.

Anakin got to his feet as Jabba addressed the crowd. His gaze was caught by General Kenobi, watching the entire proceeding with a guarded, unreadable expression and crossed arms near the front of the room.

He noticed a moment too late that Jabba had finished speaking. Fortunately, his service droid was providing a translation to the crowd.

“His eminence will allow you to plead your case.”

“My case?”

“For your thievery _,_ boy!” The red-face count spoke up, his words spat like venom.

“I didn't steal anything!”

“Then what were you doing with that collar? It's worth more than you life!” Anakin gaped, thrown at how to reply.

“ _Well_?”

“I – just -!” Anakin stammered at a loss, hands clenched at his sides. “I just thought it was pretty!”

His ears burned as the court burst out into collective laughter. Even Jabba was chortling, deep and mirthful.

The gangster composed himself, speaking in low trudging Huttese.

“His excellency decrees,” The service droid politely translated. “That the punishment should fit the crime. If the bilge rat wants a gold collar, he will have one.”

The guards grabbed either of Anakin's arms, restraining him. The color drained out of Anakin's face when he realized what was to be done

“No, stop!” Anakin was forced by the guards to his knees. “Don't do this, no-!” His hair was yanked back, his throat exposed. The girl's gold collar was snapped around his neck, digging in tight to the skin. It fit her like a glove, but for Anakin it was a noose.

He dropped forward, clawing at his neck. He couldn't breathe.

His ears rang as the court's laughing and jeering spiked into cacophonous shrieks of delight. Some of them had started to throw food, cackling at how he kicked and flailed like a fish on a line.

Jabba guffawed with satisfaction, smacking his broad stomach.

Anakin fell gaping at the floor. He furiously pulled at the vice on his neck, searching for the clasp. He couldn't find the seam. They weren't meant to be removed easily.

A dry, gurgling wheeze burned through his throat as his body fought for air.

His eyes bulged, his vision going dark.

His body curled into itself.

At least he could no longer hear the laughter over the harsh, coughing choking sounds loud in his ears.

He tried not to let his final thoughts be that Rumo was right – he was going to meet his end as another sad scrap of entertainment in Jabba's halls.

He'd probably be fed to the Rancor as well, hopefully only after the squirming stopped.

Air suddenly ripped into Anakin's lungs.

The collar snapped off his neck, clattering across the stone floor. Anakin pulled in one ragged, painful gasp after another, his hands on his throat. He must have been hallucinating from the lack of oxygen, as the garbage that had been flung at him suddenly was repelled from his person, pelting the walls and guests alike.

He saw the General with an odd clarity, standing tall at the front of the room, one hand outstretched. His expression was terrifyingly cold, eyes blazing.

Anakin couldn't hear the exchange that followed over his own heavy, gasping breathing. But his frantic pulse was beginning to calm.

On shaky arms, he pulled himself upright onto his knees.

“-and take you up on your offer of a boon,” Kenobi finished. He too seemed to have found composure, looking far more like his usual self.

“His excellency requests clarification.”

“I mean, there is no need for me to tour your harems. If he is to become a gold collar, this is the one I want.”

The tension in the room broke at once, and the fits of hysteric laughter resumed. Jabba snorted and chortled genially.

Anakin's flushed with humiliation, fresh tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He was dimly aware of what the General was doing. Kenobi was saving his life. But done this way, he couldn't tell if he wouldn't have preferred the swift death by strangulation.

He clenched his fists on his knees, his jaw tight.

He'd never leave his garage again after this. He'd gladly put up with Rumo. He mocked and chided Anakin all the time, but it never hurt quite like this.

The handsome general's mockery burned like a knife in his gut. He stole an upward glance beneath his lashes. Kenobi was watching him with a playful gleam in his eyes.

The knife twisted.

“Have him brought to my chambers.”

A fresh wave of laughter wracked the court. Fists were banging on the tables.

Anakin was seized again – by Kenobi's guards this time – and pulled to his feet. He made a rough attempt at shoving one off, but he was still so dazed and dizzied from the near asphyxiation he could barely manage to stand.

“Hilarious,” Anakin rasped, once they were out of the hall. “I'm _leaving –_ hey!” He turned to head in the direction of the garage, only to have the guards gently but resolutely turn him in the other direction.

“Come on, seriously?” He was moved along, buffeted along the halls and up flights of winding stairs.

He glared ahead, panic churning within him. How long was he going to be expected to endure this?

By the time they'd arrived at the general's quarters, he was equal parts bewildered, enraged and bereft.

“Here,”

One of the guards threw a cushion onto the floor, directing Anakin to kneel. He was dangerously close to tears again, but complied. His mental image of the general had quite thoroughly soured.

He had work that needed to do.

Hell, he had work on the man's own ship to do.

He was _tired._

The minutes stretched by. Anakin glanced around the room. It wasn't too dissimilar from that of the count's that he had been in previously in layout. There was a large formal sitting room. Through an archway and antechamber he could spy what was likely to be a sprawling similarly bedroom.

There was something much grander about the General's rooms however. Perhaps it was simply the absence of the gaudy clutter of so many treasures. Every element, from the furniture to the few items of decoration had an air of deliberation of it. They were situated higher up in the palace as well. From Anakin's position, he could not see the sands of Tattooine at all through the wide windows, only the unbroken expanse of blue sky.

He was aware of the presence of the silent guards posted at the doors behind him, but for once didn't risk being smart or mouthing off.

Embarrassment he could deal with. But it had unnerved him to realize just how expendable he'd been shown to be. The other servants and staff gave him some modicum of respect, and in Mos Eisely he could pull rank if he needed to. Nobody wanted to cross the Hutts by shortchanging one of their men. All of it didn't amount to anything, really. Jabba would kill him on a whim just for a few moments of entertainment.

Maybe they still would. Who knew what the General had planned?

A few traitorous teardrops fell onto the backs of his hands and arms. He breathed carefully, determined not to make a sound.

* * *

Anakin's head was lolling close to his chest, his eyes heavy when the door opened. He bristled, his back straightening, but he did not turn.

General Kenobi entered, walking in a wide circle to sit opposite Anakin on a plush arm chair, legs crossed.

He regarded Anakin for a long, heavy moment.

“Are you hurt?"

“My back hurts.”

“Please, sit.”

Anakin shifted into a more comfortable position, though his body was still taut and tense. Again, the General fell silent, watching Anakin with an intent, unknowable gaze. He squirmed where he sat.

“Thank you,” He ground out, if only to disrupt the quiet. “For saving me back there. I – I guess we're even now?”

“Hardly.” Kenobi's playful smile had returned.

Anakin blanched. He had somehow expected that was coming.

“Water?” He gestured to a crystal vase, dewy with condensation.

Anakin nodded stiffly.

“Rather interesting,” The general poured his drink into a matching glass. “In the three times we've run into each other in the last two days, you have appeared to be at the receiving end of some punishment as a result of your own mischief.”

There was a question in there somewhere. But until he knew what it was, Anakin wasn't going to take the bait to answer.

“What possessed you to fix my cruiser the other day?”

“... I don't know.” He fiddled with a small hole in his trouser's kneecap. “I just... wanted to see if I could.”

“Because it was pretty?”

There was scarcely any room left in Anakin for further embarrassment. He took the offered glass, throwing it back with the same desperation he did whenever he got an additional water allowance. His abused throat rebelled, he ended up coughing and spluttering.

“Let me take a look at your neck.” Kenobi leaned forward, his fingertips grazed against the line of Anakin's jaw. He suddenly went quite still Kenobi's eyes moved slowly across his throat. He could practically feel the warm touch of the gaze. Like their encounter outside Mos Eisley, Anakin was seized by the odd desire to run, to shy away from such attention.

This time, there was nowhere to go.

“Lean forward. To the side now. Good.” He complied without thinking, entranced by the feel of the rough pad of Kenobi's thumb that traced the faint pink flushed mark on Anakin's neck. It rested on the dip of his throat below the adam's apple.

“Swallow.”

Anakin complied, releasing a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

“You'll have a rather fantastic bruise from this, I think. But no lasting damage.” Obi-Wan sat back, looking satisfied. “I'll call in a healer to take a proper look to be certain.”

Anakin took another sip of water to steady himself – more slowly now. He looked up at the General warily.

“That's... really not necessary.”

“I rather disagree. A medical examination is standard procedure before the trading or purchase of escort slaves, especially those of the gold collar rank.”

Anakin rolled his eyes, finishing off the water. He felt a bit calmer now, though Kenobi was still very difficult to read.

“How did you get that thing off of my neck anyway? That was you, wasn't it?”

“It was.”

“Well?”

“Well _what,_ Anakin?”

“Show me.”

Kenobi leaned back on his seat, appraising Anakin with a beguiled smirk.

“Do you have any idea who I am?”

“You're... a general. And kind of a dick.” Anakin answered, before he could stop himself.

Kenobi shook his head with a dry huff of a laugh.

“How you have managed to keep that head on your shoulders all these years is a mystery to me.” He gestured vaguely at a gold platter, laden with fruit. A bright red apple floated up and over to Anakin. He grinned, reaching out to take it only to have it bob and dance evading outstretched fingers.

“You're only proving my point, you know!” Anakin laughed, finally managing to snatch it from midair. He sank his teeth into it with relish, cupped in both hands as if it were something infinitely precious.

“Hungry?”

“Just glad to get a break from ration packs.” Anakin said, leaning back on one hand, holding the apple in the other.

“Yes, I think I had my fill of those for a lifetime during the war.” Kenobi said distantly. A warm breeze wafted in through the wide open windows, briefly mussing his impeccable auburn hair.

“You fought in the Clone Wars?” Anakin asked, eyes bright.

“You knew what I was capable of. You must have made that assumption as well.” Kenobi gesture to the fruit. “I don't suppose the war ever came too close to Tattooine, did it? Eighteen months was hardly enough time for it to spread too far into the Outer Rim.”

Anakin shrugged.

“It may have, for all I know. I don't get out much. This is probably the longest break from work I've had in...” He trailed off, taking another large bite from the apple and grimaced. “I should really go.” He said thickly, his mouth full of fruit.

“Go where?”

“Well, the water pumps need their filters changed. That's going to be... _gross,_ but has to be done.” Anakin stood, stretching. “I've got half a dozen jammed blasters to break down and clean, stock needs to be done on inventory – and I have your cruiser to finish un-kriffing.”

“It certainly sounds like nothing your charming baesalisk friend can't handle.” Kenobi said with a wave of a hand, as if this decided things.

Anakin laughed, relishing the idea of Rumo actually having to pull his weight for a change.

“Listen, I appreciate what you did, I really do. But taking the afternoon off is just going to mean I have to work through the night to get everything done for the next day.”

“I had heard you were acquired for your skill as a pod racer.” Kenobi leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “What in the world are you doing cleaning filters?”

Anakin gave an exaggerated shrug, trying not to laugh with a desperate sort of sadness.

“You heard the Hutt, I'm a bilge rat _._ I do what I'm told. When I don't, you see what happens.” He threw his arms out for emphasis.

“Last I heard, Jabba decreed you were to be a gold collar.”

Anakin's mouth twisted into a grimace.

“The joke's played out, it's not funny.”

“On the contrary, I think it's terribly funny.” Kenobi's eyes pierced him. The light, easy banter between them chilled as he slipped back into the guise of the stern and commanding General.

“I find the Hutts a unique sort of abhorrent, but I would prefer not to spend the better part of the next decade dealing with the fallout of their scheming due to a perceived slight over a refused boon of goodwill. I have no use or particular desire for anything that might come out of his harem. But I quite think your company would help alleviate some of the tedium of my remaining days here.”

Anakin swallowed, his appetite gone. So the joke was to go on then? Anakin was absurdly reminded of the night Jabba's court in a fit of revelry had stuffed his Kowakian monkey-lizard into the Cyclorrian trader's gown and cloak. They'd spent the better part of an hour laughing as it jumped and thrashed around in protest.

“I don't suppose I have a say in this?”

“No, you do not.”

Anakin crossed his arms tightly, chewing on his tongue a bit.

“I don't... I've never - I-I wouldn't know what to do,” He stammered, suddenly at a loss.

“That, you can leave to me.”

* * *

As part and partial to Jabba's offer to bequeath Obi-Wan with a gold collar, so too came a team of four handmaidens to wait on whomever he chose. He had to admire their unflinching resolve when presented with the task of making Anakin look worthy of the station.

After having his measurements taken for new clothing, Anakin was ushered into a large luxuriant bathing chamber. The floor cool marbled stone, the walls patterned in intricate swirling mosaics of bright blue and gold. A massive tub filled an entire corner. The water was full and gently steaming. Rose petals had been scattered about the surface, the heat causing their fragrance to slowly release over time. The water was slightly haze with various salts and perfumes.

Anakin languished in the water, eyes half closed.

If he was to be made a joke, perhaps it couldn't hurt to be in on it.

His elbows were propped on the edge, his torso half-leaning over the side. One of the handmaidens sat beside him, holding his wrist. She was hard at work doing a far superior job of seeing to his neglected fingernails, which were soaking in a separate silver bowl to keep the bathing water from being excessively dirtied.

Obi-Wan was pleased to see someone had give Anakin a cushion to lean on over the side of the bath while his nails were seen to. He seemed fully relaxed, unbothered by his nakedness. Sunlight softened by fine curtains cast a luminous sheen on his wet, tanned skin. Burnt gold hair dark from the water curled about his ears and eyes.

Simply getting him out of those old clothes he wore had been a substantial improvement.

“Enjoying yourself?” He spoke up from the door.

“They filled the tub twice.” Anakin said with a guilty smile.

“We had to,” the Handmaiden Yaris grinned, still tending to Anakin's cuticles. “The first round was just to get the filth off. This one is for your enjoyment. You didn't want to be soaking in motor oil.”

“It didn't seem that bad to me.”

“I have business to attend to for the remainder of the day.” Obi-Wan approached the tub, sitting on the ledge beside where Anakin was lounging. “Can I trust you to stay out of trouble on your own?” He plucked a rose petal from Anakin's hair. He imagined Anakin dunking his head under the water, reveling in the opulence of the experience. The thought made his stomach curl with warmth.

“Yaris has my day planned. They're doing something to my feet after this, and my hair after that,”

“His calluses are going to be a... challenge.”

“Hey, I need those calluses. I worked hard to get them.”

“Have you worked with many other gold collars under the Hutts, Yaris?”

“I have, sir.”

“We used to steal from the kitchens together when we were younger.” Anakin grinned.

“Even better. Can I trust you to look after Anakin while I'm here, my dear?”

Yaris sat up a bit straighter, looking equal parts embarrassed and starry-eyed.

“Of course, your Excellency!”

“Good. Take this.” He took a gold signet ring off his finger, handing it over to her. “Do not give it to anyone, not even to inspect it. It will allow you to operate with my authority while I'm here. Use it to get Anakin what he needs.”

Yaris was left briefly speechless. As she stammered some attempts at eloquent graciousness, Anakin crossed his arms on his pillow, resting his head on his hands and let his body sink further into the water.

“Shouldn't I get something like that too?” He looked up at Obi-Wan with a pout that had no business being so fetching. “I want people to know I'm affiliated with you.”

“I've already sent for the castmaster to be summoned from Coruscant. He should be here before the week is out.” He placed a warm hand on Anakin's shoulder, giving it a brief possessive squeeze as he stood. As he left, he overheard Anakin ask Yaris quietly;

“What's a castmaster?”

He smiled privately to himself.

Padme would not approve. This was meant to be a dull, straightforward mission. Clean cut and precise.

He was making the game more complicated than it needed to be.

Obi-Wan paused by the guards on his way out.

“Take note of anyone who comes asking to see him independently,” Obi-Wan instructed, his voice low. “And let no one do so. He is to answer to no summons, not even the Hutts.”

“Understood, sir.”

The vicious, dark beast in Obi-Wan's gut snarled in satisfaction as he swept out into the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take note of the rating change! 
> 
> Thanks again as always to everyone's great comments <3!

“We were quite surprised to hear you requisition a transfer of the slave boy's transmitter chip.” Obi-Wan walked down the halls side-by-side with the count.

Was this the one who had brought Anakin before Jabba? He really hadn't been paying attention at the time.

“Is that so?”

“Of course, it was quite the humorous display!” He said with a leery smile, pulling back the gauzy curtains of the archway. “However, we would hate for you to feel slighted during your trip to our humble planet.”

In the wide, dimly-lit room two young men and a woman with gold collars were kneeling gracefully. The count clapped twice, and the three lifted their heads in perfect synchronization.

Obi-Wan crossed his arms, surprised. He had to give credit to the adaptability of Jabba's staff for picking up on Obi-Wan's supposed tastes. Each of them – including the girl – bore a certain striking resemblance to Anakin (if not for the exquisite pair of breasts and lovely tail).

“What is your name?” He asked her. Her smile was practiced and demure. She kept her eyes carefully averted.

“I am unclaimed, Master. My name is whatever you deem to grant me.”

“How delightfully tedious.” Obi-Wan said dryly. He gestured for the count to follow.

“Are you quite sure?”

“I'm quite sure that Jabba is one who appreciates a good deal. A gold collar is easily worth more than twenty mechanics.” The two continued on into a drawing room where a waiting servant poured them drinks.

“For good reason.” The count sniffed, taking the fluted glass. “Perhaps you've never been with one before? They receive the very best training in what they do. A common slave simply can't compare.”

“I can certainly believe it.” Obi-Wan cradled his glass, sitting back comfortably. “However, I find it hard to contemplate anything of the sort when considering more... troubling manners.” He gestured with one hand – a movement that would look perfectly comfortable in ordinary company as he guided the count's lips to loosen through the force.

“Ah, you speak of the insurgents.” The count nodded sagely. “Yes, despite the relative peace that the Empire has brought to most systems, they continue to do quite well here on the Outer Rim.”

“Yes, I had heard as much. What else?”

“They were here only two nights before your arrival.” He said blithely eyes unfocused, taking a drink from his glass, though most of it spilled down his shirt. “Offered a great deal of money to Jabba's men slit your throat in the night. Or to anyone really.”

“How troubling.”

“Oh yes, he turned them down. He believes there is more money to be made by cooperating with the Empire than drawing its direct attention through such a overt act of aggression.”

“For now, at least.”

“Yes, for now.”

“What a wonderful conversationalist you are.” Obi-Wan clapped the count cheerfully on the shoulder.

“Why thank you!” He beamed. “Tell me Czarina, have I told you about my very extensive collection of custom-made Nubian school girl outfits?”

“I don't think it's necessary that you do.”

“I enjoy being stepped on while wearing them.”

“I think its best for both of us if you stop talking now.” Obi-Wan gave the man's shoulder a squeeze with a sharp smile. “In fact, why don't we forget this conversation ever occurred?”

The count blinked in alarm, shaking his head a bit as if clearing water from his ears. A slow dawning horror came over him.

“Yes... yes I think that would be best.”

* * *

“Blue, or red?”

Yaris sat on the floor across from Anakin, an assortment of extravagant silks, jewelry and other finery laid out between them.

Anakin was quite interested in sorting through them (especially since he had a suspicion his old clothes were long gone) but he had spent the majority of the day getting scrubbed, plucked and buffed which had taken a surprising amount out of him. He'd been given a light robe of black silk, intricately patterned with gold flowers. A long bacta patch was wrapped around his neck to treat his bruise from the morning.

Had it only just been this morning? It seemed like ages ago Rumo was kicking him awake in the mechanic shop.

Anakin lay half-sprawled out on a low pouf, his fingertips tracing over the smooth, grape-sized opal set into a large ring that would cover one's entire knuckle.

“I'm sure whatever you pick will be fine.” He felt a large yawn coming on, as Yaris threw a blue sash over one of his shoulders, holding out a red alternative to compare.

“They send two very different messages.”

“What?” Anakin rolled his eyes back. “They're just colors Yaris.”

“The blue suits you so well, but the red is striking...”

Anakin rubbed one of his eyes grumpily.

“You... don't have to take this so seriously, you know.” He mumbled. He looked away from her, shifting the loose robe a bit higher up his shoulders. “All of this, me being here... you know it's all just a big joke, right?”

“It's my _job_ , Anakin. It seems to me like the only one who isn't taking this seriously is you.”

“I let you pierce my ears, Yaris. I think I'm taking it plenty seriously.” Anakin huffed, picking up a gold circlet from one of the many assorted boxes. It was lighter than he expected.

“Even if you're still complaining hours after we healed them.” She smoothed Anakin's hair back, putting the circlet on his head.

“Did you know I was there the day you won your big pod race?”

“What?” The sudden change in topic had him thrown. Yaris adjusted his hair thoughtfully, looking pleased with the overall effect.

“You were so happy. Covered in dirt an exhaust from head to toe, you looked like you could swallow the sun.”

Anakin sat up, looking at Yaris warily, almost looking frightened.

“I... haven't thought about that day in years.”

Not since he realized that he had only been purchased as a passing fancy. One or two races later, the Hutt seemed to have all but forgotten he existed. His life lapsed into a never-ending task list of fixing wrecks and mending weaponry.

“At some point I think, you stopped thinking you deserved the things you wanted in life. We all do that, a little bit, as we grow up. But... I think when you have the chance, you should let yourself be happy.”

“Yaris...”

“I'm going to get these sized for you.” She gathered up the gold bangles with a smile. “Your clothes will be ready in the morning. Why don't you get some rest? You look tired. I'll send up some food as well.”

Anakin helped Yaris gather up the various finery spread across the floor (despite her insistence that he do no such thing), and soon he was left alone in the beautiful wing of the palace.

He sat by the window. In the far distance, a sandstorm was billowing its way across the landscape, like some massive beast with its head low. Anakin's eyes were heavy, although his mind buzzed. He wasn't used to being alone with his thoughts.

_What do I want?_

* * *

After Obi-Wan's moderately interesting conversation with the count, the next few hours were an absolutely dreadful slog. One couldn't say too many positive things about Jabba the Hutt, but was a relatively straightforward individual to work with. However, beneath his substantial girth was a litany of bureaucratic brown-nosing and backstabbers.

It took all of his well-worn restraint to avoid mind tricking the lot of them in order to expedite the proceedings (as that would only cause more problems later). In addition to being a dreadfully dull affair, he couldn't help but be distracted by the prospect of what was waiting for him back in his quarters.

Typically, a gold collar – especially a green one unaccustomed to their new post – would be waiting at the door for their master to return. Head bowed low touching the floor in a perfect display of supplication. The three who had been presented to Obi-Wan earlier had been perfect representations of their post. Diligent, subservient, alluring.

Obi-Wan returned to find Anakin fast asleep in a sunny spot by by the window.

Stretched out on a low-backed, gilded divan. His robe had shifted as he turned in his sleep, having fallen off one shoulder entirely. His arms above his head, lips slightly parted.

It was a deliciously charming sight to behold.

Moving carefully, Obi-Wan reached out with the Force, nudging Anakin a bit deeper into sleep. He murmured softly, his head falling back further exposing the long graceful line of his neck. In the brief moments that their minds brushed against each-other, Obi-Wan was pleased to feel the utter contentment radiating from his thoughts.

A low table near him held a silver tiered serving tray with an assortment of small sandwiches, savory pastries, fruit and other delicacies. Just about everything had been sampled, but the fruit and candied nuts seemed to have been particularly picked over. One tray in particular had been reduced to nothing but dark crumbs.

 _He has a sweet tooth._ Obi-Wan filed the thought away carefully. A stray crumb was still on the corner of Anakin's mouth. Obi-Wan leaned over Anakin's prone body, capturing the crumb with his lips. His had braced against Anakin's sun-warmed stomach, which quivered under the touch.

He murmured, stirring gently out of sleep. Obi-Wan reached out to soothe Anakin back under, but his eyes were already open, distant and dazed. He leaned forward, their noses brushing. His lips quirked into a lazy smile, stealing a slow kiss.

Obi-Wan made a soft, desperate sound. He pressed forward, fingers tangling into the soft curls of Anakin's hair, pulling him close to deepen the kiss. He licked into Anakin's mouth, who went beautifully pliant beneath him.

He tasted sweet.

“ _Anakin_ ,” He spoke his name reverently, nipping at the line of his jaw, marking his neck with his teeth. Anakin shuddered, preening at the attention. His hands were awkward, pawing at Obi-Wan's shoulders and arms.

There was suddenly far too many layers between them. Obi-Wan wanted to feel every inch of Anakin's skin with his own body. He wanted to spend the entire day kissing him. No politics or guilt or ghosts, just warm and willing flesh. Obi-Wan guided Anakin back against the pillows, his hands heavy on his chest.

One of his hands strayed, grasping his neck. Anakin flinched suddenly with a soft cry. The tender skin of his throat had largely been healed, but was still delicate to the touch.

Obi-Wan pulled back at once. The eager spontaneity of the moment broken.

“No, Kenobi it's alright-” Anakin followed him up. “It doesn't hurt, really.”

“I should let you rest.”

“ _Hey,_ ” Anakin grabbed his arm, tugging on it insistently. “Listen. You don't have to worry. I want this. This part of it. If you want to, I mean.” He added lamely, his head bowed a bit.

“Has it occurred to you that perhaps you _should_ worry?” Obi-Wan suggested sternly. “You belong to me now, you know. I could have you killed for refusing me.”

“You won't.”

“You don't know that.”

“I _know_ you won't.” Anakin pressed, with a fierce grin. He rolled onto Obi-Wan's lap, looking up at him with a smug, contented smile. “You'd let me spend the entire week eating cake and sleeping if that's what I wanted to do”

“You couldn't possibly know that.”

“I do.”

“ _How_.”

Anakin shrugged. He looked away, as if he himself wasn't sure how to pinpoint the answer.

“You... didn't laugh with the others. At me.”

“ _Anakin_ , that's hardly where your bar for human decency should be!”

“Listen,” He sat up, tugging on Obi-Wan's tunic. He came over suddenly shy, nuzzling his head into the man's neck. “I want to, alright? I don't really get out much in my line of work. I wouldn't really get a chance to, you know.” He clamped his jaw shut.

“You've never been with anyone.” Obi-Wan clarified. Anakin didn't lift his head, the pink flush across the back of his neck and shoulders served as confirmation.

“This was a bad idea,” Anakin murmured, mostly to himself. He was more awake now, more aware of the fact that he was mostly naked, sitting in the lap of a handsome, powerful man who could have any person in the galaxy he wanted.

Obi-Wan's arm wrapped around Anakin's waist, reigning him in. A hand ran through his hair, pulling him close to press their foreheads together.

“I think not. You should finish what you started.”

A warm, heady sensation suddenly filled Anakin's mind. It was all at once foreign and familiar, filling every facet of his mind. Anakin's body went loose and languid in Obi-Wan's arms, sinking into the feeling as has it left no room for hesitance or reservations.

“Good boy,”

Obi-Wan's clever lips were on his jaw again, nipping just below his ear. Anakin chased Obi-Wan's lips, hot and needy to be kissed again.

Anakin was terribly easy to read. He practically pulled Obi-Wan's presence into him, opened wide and willing. There was no malice or greed here. No expectation or desire even to improve his own standing through affiliation with the powerful general. His soul was bruised, close to broken at times. But he was strong.

“What do you want, Anakin?”

The flood of pure and simple _desire_ nearly overwhelmed him. Obi-Wan sank his teeth in, like a man starved.

-

Anakin fell onto the wide, soft bed, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as Obi-Wan took his time removing his formal armor. He felt Obi-Wan's appraising stare like a physical touch.

Anakin's body burned. He felt high on Obi-Wan's adoration. Anakin's hand trailed down between his thighs to grasp himself, already hard and aching.

“Arms at your sides.”

Anakin whined, fisting the soft sheets, his body restless and hot with desire. He was accustomed to such needs being a brief and base thing. A simple itch to be scratched in the brief snatches of time that allowed it.

“Good.” Obi-Wan breathed, relishing the wave of delight that emanated off of Anakin from the meagerest praise. Down to his underclothes now, Obi-Wan loomed over him, cupping his cheek, teasing the prospect of another sweet kiss as their lips barely brushed together. “You're not used to denying yourself, are you?” Obi-Wan tipped Anakin's robe off of his shoulder, causing it to gratefully spill and pool down to his sides leaving him bare, save for the circlet of woven gold. 

Fingertips ran up his arm, goosebumps scattering in their wake. The words were pulled from his throat as he slipped further into Obi-Wan's lulling trance.

“Master...”

Anakin was turned onto his stomach. A selection of fine oils in beautiful glass bottles had been set aside in a glass cabinet. Obi-Wan compared them with careful consideration as Anakin whined with frustration and want, his hips ground against the fine silk sheets on the bed, searching fruitlessly for friction.

Obi-Wan gentled him with a heavy hand on his side, running down his back. Anakin's legs fell open gratefully at the barest touch to his naked thighs. Slick fingers pressed against him, inside him. A low, desperate moan was pulled from his throat as his entire body arched immediately against the touch.

“So sensitive,” Obi-Wan's voice was warm. “Tell me dear one, have you ever touched yourself like this before?”

“No,” Anakin gasped, his face buried into the down pillow. His hips struggled against Obi-Wan's grip to thrust back against his fingers. “Never, I- I didn't know...”

“Poor thing. You were made for this.”

Obi-Wan milked more sweet cries out of Anakin as he slowly worked him open, savoring each sound. He could feel Anakin growing close. Each breath drew out a keening, desperate whine. Anakin's fingers flexed and strangled the down pillow at his head. He wanted so badly to touch himself, to find release.

Obi-Wan experimented with different angles and speeds, working him up to a fervent pace. With a strangled cry, Anakin's body arched, climaxing sharply. Tremors wracked down his body as his vision went white. From his startled, disbelieving gasps Obi-Wan was quite sure it must have been one of the more intense orgasms the young man must have experienced.

“Sorry, I'm sorry I couldn't stop it...” Anakin stammered, a fresh tear rolled down his cheek.

“Sh, it's alright.” Obi-Wan rolled Anakin onto his back, his body flush. “Do you think you can still take me?”

“Yes, please- I want to please,” He stammered mindlessly, pulling Obi-Wan close, who placed a soft kiss on the corner of Anakin's mouth, on his cheek, at his temple. His eyelashes were soft against his skin.

Obi-Wan tugged his shirt off. Beneath his layers, his body was firm. His skin was striped with a litany of striped scars, faded over time to a shining pink-white.

“You're beautiful, Kenobi.”

“Call me Obi-Wan.” He descended, capturing Anakin's lips in a searing kiss, swallowing his sweet cries as he thrust inside.

* * *

Anakin's eyes opened in the middle of the night. He wasn't quite sure what woke him. The evening was peaceful and silent. He stretched luxuriously, relishing the ache in his body.

In the end, they had gone quite a few rounds before collapsing in mutual exhaustion. Anakin wasn't quite sure who was the first to reach their limit, although he vaguely recalled the sensation of Obi-Wan tending to his bruised body after with light touches and a warm cloth. Had he imagined it?

There was another murmur and a sharp cry.

Anakin sat up, trying not to wince as he did so. Across the wide bed, Obi-Wan was laying in a tangle of white sheets. His body gleaming with sweat, hair mussed from sex and restlessness. His body was pinched in pain and anger as he slept.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin shifted closer, cautiously. The General snarled, thrashing in his sleep, nearly lifting himself off of the bed.

“Obi-Wan, wake up!” Anakin grabbed his shoulder in alarm.

In a whirl, Anakin's back hit the bed as Obi-Wan was suddenly over him, his fist around Anakin's throat, his other hand raised to strike. His teeth bared like a feral thing.

His eyes were blazing gold.

Anakin was briefly paralyzed with pain and fear. Obi-Wan's expression of rage fell slack as he threw himself off of the bed, leaving Anakin coughing and gasping, gingerly bracing his abused neck. He steadied himself, turning to see Obi-Wan stalk out onto the balcony. A spare sheet was wrapped low around his hips, the muscles of his back taught and white in the moonlight as he braced himself against the ledge.

He stayed like that for a long moment, drawing ragged breaths.

Anakin drew his robe back around himself, arms crossed tight. His bare feet were silent on the cold marble floor. The desert night carried a chill over the dunes.

Obi-Wan didn't turn to face him, but Anakin knew he could sense the approach.

“I'm sorry, Anakin.”

“I'm not hurt.” Anakin replied easily. “You just... frightened me, that's all.”

“ _Good._ ” Obi-Wan turned, looking at him with a savage, disbelieving smile. “It's about time you were frightened.”

Anakin frowned, coming up alongside him.

“It was just a bad dream, Obi-Wan. I have them too.”

“Not like mine,” The General turned back out to face the dessert. His red-rimmed yellow eyes were distant and weary.

“I wonder... what the Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi would have thought of you.” There was a heaviness about his voice. Anakin rested his elbows on the balcony, at a loss for words.

“There's so little left of me, Anakin.”

He carefully leaned his head against Obi-Wan's shoulder. There was the barest hint of a flinch at the contact. Obi-Wan's arm wrapped around Anakin's shoulders, pulling him tight against his body. His face buried in the soft curls of Anakin's hair.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last time I'll bump up the chapter count. Probably.

“You're going to get sick if you eat nothing but chocolate, Anakin.”

Obi-Wan was spread out on a low sofa, reading a data-pad with a cup of Caf in hand. A departure from his usual impeccable appearance, he was dressed casually in soft pants and a light open robe, a few loose strands of hair fallen about his eyes.

Anakin rolled over to meet Obi-Wan's gaze deliberately, taking another chocolate truffle from the tray. Obi-Wan caught Anakin's wrist, pulled his hand forward and plucked it from his fingers with his own mouth. Anakin made a play at an indignant huff, though his eyes darkened with desire.

Anakin shifted a bit closer from where he was curled up with his head on Obi-Wan's lap. Yaris had arrived earlier with several servants in tow with an alarming number of clothes tailored specifically for Anakin. Most were a confounding assortment of ties, belts and chains of precious metals and stones.

The one he had selected for the morning by contrast was a relatively simple garb of the finest cream silk, wrapped around his torso and another around his waist in a long trailing skirt which left his thighs blissfully exposed to the cool morning air. A few covetous pieces of jewelry adorned his ankles, toes and arms, though not enough as to be uncomfortable.

Experimentally, Obi-Wan let his tongue stray over the tips of Anakin's fingertips, eliciting soft, needful sound. Obi-Wan knew it to be equal parts desire and helplessness. Even if Anakin wanted to do anything, likely would still be out of commission from the previous evening.

After their talk on the balcony, Anakin had managed to coax him back into bed. He straddled his hips, easing back inside of him, still pliant from their previous activities. Obi-Wan had guided him, a hard grip on the meat of Anakin's thighs and waist, hard enough to bruise. Before, Obi-Wan had been thoroughly gentle with him. Now, he was unrestrained.

Perhaps he had wanted to hurt him, still trying to scare Anakin off. He could feel Obi-Wan's presence in his mind again. Instead of warm soothing currents it was passionate, _hungry._ Perhaps he was expecting Anakin to shy away or run. Instead, Obi-Wan only found himself falling headfirst into the endless well of warmth of a lonely soul desperate for belonging.

Anakin rutted against Obi-Wan needfully, matching his frenetic pace. His fingers dug into the man's back as they pulled one another so close, as if to shove their broken souls together and achieve some semblance of being whole.

“Anakin, look at me.” Obi-Wan braced Anakin's neck, guiding him back. “Please,”

Anakin's hair was matted to his forehead with sweat, his mouth wide and jagged. Obi-Wan pushed the hair out of his eyes, blown wide and dark with lust. He nuzzled into Obi-Wan's hand desperately, his shoulders heaving from exertion.

Anakin didn't know the truth. About him, or what he'd done.

What they had wouldn't last.

He committed it to memory, Anakin looking into his gold eyes as if they were the most beautiful thing in the world.

“You're just teasing me now.” Anakin pouted, pulling him out of the memory. Obi-Wan's lips had lingered on his knuckles, warming the gold bands around the base Anakin's fingers. A fine web of gold threads laced them together, connecting to a cuff around his wrist.

Anakin leaned in, stealing a sweet kiss from Obi-Wan. He leaned back, guiding Anakin with a hand on the back of his neck so they were splayed comfortably together without breaking the kiss.

After a very long evening, neither had plans to push further the peaceful moment. Instead, they basked in each other's warmth and physical presence with long, lazy and unhurried kisses.

Obi-Wan's hand braced the small of Anakin's back against the bare skin, his thumb rubbing firm along the sore muscles there. Anakin groaned with relief into Obi-Wan's neck, amazed at how he was able to so quickly pinpoint and soothe the lingering aches.

“Mn, that feels good.”

“I can tell.”

Anakin shuddered in delight as Obi-Wan's mental presence brushed against his own once again.

He massaged Anakin's back a few more times, drawing out a soft contented groan each time. The bare muscles of his stomach moved smoothly against Obi-Wan's own, as he absentmindedly nipped at the dip at his throat.

The gentle moment was broken by a Obi-Wan's communicator trilling from the other room.

Obi-Wan sighed heavily.

“I have to take that.”

Anakin pined as he was rolled aside.

“Do you have to?”

“This one? Yes.”

He stepped into the other room. Anakin seized the opportunity to stuff another chocolate into his mouth before trailing after him.

The blue hologram flicked into existence, filling half of the bedroom. A woman, sat poised before them at eye-level. She was adorned in ornate, regal robes and wore a large headpiece with a crown of arms that resembled the sun. Sharp, lovely eyes flickered from Obi-Wan to Anakin in the doorway.

“I wanted to see for myself if the rumors were true.”

“My, from all the way from out here back to Coruscant? That's quite impressive.” Obi-Wan crossed his arms with a smile. He beckoned Anakin in. “Padmé, this is Anakin Skywalker.”

“Pleased to meet you, Padmé.”

“Anakin, this is her Royal Excellency, Empress Padmé Amidala.”

Anakin coughed around the remainder of his chocolate, doing a violent double take.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Should I, bow? Or something?” He turned to Obi-Wan desperately.

“If you'd like.”

Padmé's lips quirked in a smile as Anakin doubled over sharply at the waist, grimacing remarkably as his back screamed in protest.

“You look well, Obi-Wan.”

“Thank you, Padmé,”

“I expect you have a plan to explain this to the Core ambassadors.” Her voice was a careful sort of monotone, though Anakin picked up on a subtle lilt of amusement in her voice. “Taking on a... gold collar, hardly aligns with our goals.”

Obi-Wan sighed, crossing his arms across his bare chest.

“Wasn't the point of dissolving the Senate to no longer need worry about the opinion of politicians?” Obi-Wan said airily.

Anakin squirmed a bit where he stood, feeling self conscious.

“I don't want to cause problems,” He murmured.

Especially with the _Empress_ of all people.

How did this keep happening to him?

“Anakin's initial trade agreement to the Hutts has him listed as a pod racer. That should be enough to satisfy any formal complaints. Besides, it's clear enough to anyone who meets him that he's not a true gold collar.”

Anakin fidgeted again. _That_ was certainly true. His face went warm.

Obi-Wan glanced over at him, picking up on his agitation.

“Anakin, can you tell Yaris to draw a bath?”

He nodded gratefully, all but running from the room as Obi-Wan and Amidala continued to converse familiarly.

“So... you know the Empress?”

Anakin crossed his arms on Obi-Wan's chest, the two of them once again soaking in the large tub in Obi-Wan's bathing chambers.

“Anakin, I am the High General of the Empire.”

“I know.”

“Do you know what that _means_?”

Anakin but his lip, fiddling with the scattering of ginger hair on Obi-Wan's chest.

“It means... yes, I know the Empress.” Obi-Wan sighed, tipping Anakin's head back, pouring the steaming water over his hair and down his back. “We met many years ago, well before the Clone Wars.”

Obi-Wan's voice tightened a bit toward the end of his sentence. Anakin got the distinct impression that he had said more than he meant to.

“You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want.” Anakin sat up, taking one of the dense lathered sponges off of a nearby shelf.

“I suspect you'll learn eventually, I'd prefer if you heard it from me.” Obi-Wan turned, allowing Anakin to scrub his shoulders and back. Anakin delighted in the task. He couldn't possibly name a single one of the scents (sandalwood? That was a scent right?) but he took a kind of vicious, primal delight in the two of them sharing the same scent.

“Have you heard of the Massacre of Naboo?”

“I've heard of Naboo, I think. That's where blue plasma comes from, right?”

“Yes.” Obi-Wan sighed heavily. “I met the Empress shortly before this. She was only the elected Queen of the small system then. We both... lost a great deal that day.”

Anakin's hands stilled.

“We found one another in our misery. United in the diminished confidence in certain ideals that had otherwise come to define us. We both realized that there was something very wrong with the Republic. With the Jedi Order.”

“We... don't really hear about the Jedi anymore,” Anakin sluiced water down Obi-Wan's back, clearing the foam. A certain cool tension had gathered in the air. Still, Anakin pushed himself to ask. “What happened to them?”

“The Order has been disbanded.” Obi-Wan stood, exiting the tub. Water and lingering suds ran down the muscled lines of his back and thighs. “Their ranks were decimated by a-” He paused for a brief moment, roughing a towel through his hair. “A very dark force. During its first few hours of conception, the Empire as you know it was effectively ruled by an Emperor.”

“What, really?” Anakin balked. He had certainly never heard that before. He didn't know much, but the story of the Empress rising to power and putting an end to the galaxy-wide conflict was quite well known. He was sure there was never an Emperor in the story.

“Over the past few years, we've been working to turn his grand design into something new. An in-between of the two ideals of both old and new ideologies.”

“Are the Jedi still around?” Anakin stood as well, stretching experimentally. The bacta salts in the water had done wonders for his back.

“Very few remain, we suspect. Exiled, or in hiding.” Obi-Wan turned, unabashedly admiring the sight of him.

“Hiding from what?” Anakin buried his face in one of the soft, fluffy towels before slinging it around his neck. He did a double-take. Obi-Wan's eyes had gone gold again, his smile soft and sad.

“From me, of course.”

* * *

Obi-Wan gave Anakin some privacy to change. He suspected that Anakin never had much freedom to choose his own wardrobe and was enjoying the new task immensely.

“I have to spend the afternoon with Jabba's court.” Obi-Wan was looking out of the windows over the desert when Anakin re-joined him. “They're taking his sail barge to see the dual eclipse over the Porthega salt canyon.”

“The _Khetanna_ , really?” Anakin said brightly from the other room. “I've done engine work on it loads of times. I always wanted to see what it was like to ride in it as a passenger”

“You can certainly stay behind, if you chose.” Obi-Wan turned “I thought you might have had quite enough of that crowd.” His eyes softened. “I daresay they'll have quite the different impression of you now.”

Anakin had changed into a pair of light pants made, synced just below the knee by straps of woven and beaded gold. The fabric was sheer fabric, the outline of his shapely legs leaving little to the imagination, save for where they were mercifully opaque between the legs. Similar chords adorned a vibrantly patterned sash hung loose and low at his hips. A silk top wrapped snug around his midriff, gathered to a sculpted bronze hoop around his neck, leaving his back bare save for gossamer-thin chains of gold trailing down between the shoulder-blades.

As Yaris showed him, his eyes were accented with dark lines, creating a beautiful catlike flair accented with gold dust at the edges.

“That's the same circlet you wore yesterday.” Obi-Wan noted, brushing a lock of Anakin's hair behind his ear fondly.

“I like it.” Anakin said, his cheeks pinking. “Should I – do you want me to change it?”

“No, you should wear what makes you happy.” Obi-Wan took the gold cuff from Anakin's hands, helping to clasp it in place around his bicep. His fingers strayed on the warm, taut skin of his arm.

“If you're worried about my opinion, don't.”

“But-”

“Anakin, why in the world would I take the time to see the Hutt's mechanic in person about a misaligned engine?”

“It's the ship's power converter, not the-”

“-I wanted you from from the moment I saw you.” He playfully cupped Anakin's chin, spelling it out plainly for him now.

“You aren't serious.” Anakin laughed weakly.

“Dressed in rags, grease up to your elbows.” Obi-Wan stepped forward. Anakin's legs gave out, sitting down on the edge of the plush sofa. Obi-Wan's hand grasped the back of his head, fingers twining into his hair. Anakin's head fell back, his throat obediently exposed.

“Then you disappeared on me. Nobody is allowed to do that.” There was a dark purr to his voice, his eyes flashed gold. A shudder of desire wracked Anakin's body as he felt Obi-Wan's teeth grace the tender skin of his neck.

“I knew I had to hunt you down. My heart was racing, for the first time in years.”

Obi-wan's lips brushed against his cheek as he spoke.

“Your spectacle in the chamber may have moved things along, but falling into my possession was an eventuality. Not a whim. You were made to belong to me. I would not have you doubt your worth.”

Anakin's mind reeled, his breath caught in his throat.

“ _Master_ ,” He breathed the word like a prayer.

The word felt too small for words he didn't have.

* * *

Obi-Wan was pleased that Anakin had decided to come along.

If nothing else, it was endlessly entertaining to walk by the sea of startled double-takes and blatant staring at the beautiful creature that now walked with the General as they joined the party setting sail over the desert. Obi-Wan was concerned at first that he might balk at the attention as he done previously. Instead, Anakin seemed to have finally taken his word to heart. He walked with his back straight, unbothered by the attention and comfortable at last in his skin.

Unable to help himself, Obi-Wan extended his senses to Anakin's thoughts.

He had done this extensively when the two met. On an Outer Rim planet with minimal security, it was rational to probe for any ill-intent or hint of involvement in the Insurgency. It was an important exercise to determine how safely he could lower his own guard.

He had done it again when the two had shared passions the night before. That had been an unabashed indulgence. The unbridled torrent of pure energy and desire blazing off of Anakin's virgin soul had been a delicacy he couldn't resist.

This time... Obi-Wan found his justification a bit more evasive to find. Not that Anakin would notice, one couldn't without proper training. But it wasn't terribly polite.

His mind brushed familiarly against Anakin's own. He felt... strong. Vibrant. Thrumming with the living energy of the Force. Someone whose being was forged to be admired and seen and adored.

The General's lovely new plaything served as an acceptable excuse to perform the bare minimum of pleasantries with the Hutt's various entourage before retreating to a more private section of the luxury vessel. An alcove festooned with plush cushions around a low table, away from the music and the revelry. From here, the two could enjoy the sight of the various dancers, singers and acrobats entertaining the party without being overheard or disturbed.

Outside, the endless desertscape rolled by.

“I don't really like to drink,” Anakin said, as Obi-Wan offered him a glass with deep amber liquid.

“I'm quite sure I wouldn't enjoy whatever your besalisk friend considers to be alcohol either.” Obi-Wan handed it over to Anakin, downing half of his with a sturdy gulp.

Anakin swirled the glass experimentally, taking a cautious sip. The burn of the spirit was still there, but it went down smoothly, leaving behind a taste of caramel and wood smoke.

“I suppose this isn't so bad.”

Obi-Wan chuckled, pouring them both another shot. If he knew how many credits they were downing with each drink he may have had a slightly different response.

A pleasant warmth began to spread across Anakin's fingertips as he grew pleasantly tipsy. Obi-Wan listened with patient interest as Anakin went on about the _Khetanna's_ design and the makeup of Ubrikkian ships in general, before the conversation naturally shifted to his work and past experience with pod-racing.

He waited for Obi-Wan to grow tired of hearing him speak, but it didn't come. Obi-Wan effortlessly re-directed any attempts from Anakin to engage him with questions on his own past life, preferring to hear more about Anakin's life on Tattooine under the Hutts.

Before he realized it, Anakin found himself talking about his mother.

“They don't have a lot of money. It's hard to find a courier that's going to the Hutts palace willing to carry a message to a slave. Most of my birthdays she's able to get one through.” Anakin was swirling the ice cube in his glass, watching it carefully.

“Her son Owen got married last year. She sent a photo. He looks a lot like her. I... I guess I look more like my father. I don't look like my mother.”

Obi-Wan guided Anakin into the crook of his arm, who folded neatly into Obi-Wan's side. At that moment a overly-confident looking group of trade-masters festooned with escourts of their own decided to take their chance sidling up to Obi-Wan for an introduction.

“You have better things to be doing.” Obi-Wan said sternly, with a waive of two fingers over Anakin's shoulder.

“I have better things to be doing.” They all murmured to one another, nodding sage agreement, shuffling off.

“What was that?” Anakin murred.

“A Jedi trick.” Obi-Wan said dismissively, though he noticed how Anakin brightened. “...would you like to hear the story of how my Master taught me how to do it?”

* * *

They arrived at the salt canyon shortly before the eclipse. A wide, jagged split in the earth across the horizon. Massive crystalline spires of salt struck up high into the air, glittering like teeth all the way down the wide crossing chasms seemingly to the heart of the planet. Stepping out onto the balcony of the ship the air was dry and warm, although the harsh of midday had already begun to give way.

“They say that this entire desert used to be a massive ocean.” Anakin said, leaning against the railing. “This area all used to be a cave system, I think. The salt gathered here over the years, condensing as it all dried up.”

“Careful,” Obi-Wan placed a bracing hand on Anakin's lower back. He had leaned so far over the side he was practically balancing on the edge. The decorative gold slippers he wore were lovely, but were hardly meant to maintain any sort of grip.

“I've only ever heard about this place, I've never been so far out before.” He sounded wistful, as if only just now beginning to understand how big the galaxy around him was. How little he'd seen of it.

“It's starting now. Don't look directly at the suns.”

There was no need. While a full eclipse of the two suns took a few hours to complete in total, the real spectacle was when the two orbs of light crested one another. As two spectrums overlapped, there were a few moments where the sky blazed. First washed in vibrant red, then gold and white. It filled the horizon, the light caught and glowed against and through the multi-faceted surfaces of the salt crystals, causing them to resonate in a wide range of warm tones as the sky changed.

“I always thought this planet was ugly.” Anakin said quietly, drinking in the sight. “I never imagined it could look like this before.”

“I suppose all you needed was a new point of view.” Obi-Wan murmured, his lips on Anakin's bare shoulder.

“Thank you for showing me this. For everything, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan didn't answer right away, but Anakin couldn't help but feel content all the same. An echo of warmth and affection rolled off of him. In that moment Anakin couldn't be quite sure to who they belonged, as the two brilliant points of light fused in the late afternoon sky.


	5. Chapter 5

Anakin wasn't used to sleeping leisurely. Years of snatched sleep in pockets here and there had him waking frequently throughout the night.

Really, he should have slept soundly. The suns had long set when they retired from the _Khetanna_ to Obi-Wan's guest wing. Their return was followed by long, decadent lovemaking well into the early hours of the morning.

Obi-Wan was a voracious teacher, showing Anakin new ways to give and receive pleasure which he dove into with enthusiasm.

Still, heavy, dreamless sleep was punctuated here and there by fits of sudden alert wakefulness. The two had fallen asleep apart from one another, each used to sleeping alone and unaccustomed to the warm body of another. Each time he woke, Anakin found himself watching the moon-silver outline Obi-Wan's form rise and fall steadily as he breathed in the night.

Unlike the evening previous, there was a deep peacefulness about him that made Anakin feel warm throughout.

Obi-Wan's face was relaxed. His beautiful mouth slightly parted, his hair tussled.

It seemed... private. Like he shouldn't be here.

Anakin woke again some hours later after the sun rose, surrounded by warmth and the smell of Obi-Wan. His head was resting against the man's chest, his arm thrown across his middle.

Idle fingers carded through Anakin's hair, blunt nails gently scratching his scalp. The sensation was remarkably soothing. Anakin found himself slipping back under to a lazy half-sleep, lulled by the gentle doting.

Anakin was gently roused back to waking by the scent of hot caf and a savory breakfast being rolled into the bedroom. He murmured something inquisitive, stretching languidly.

“I was worried you'd sleep through breakfast.” Obi-Wan had one arm around him still, the other scrolling through a data-pad with his thumb. Anakin untangled himself from Obi-Wan himself and sat up groggily.

“Anakin's not one to miss an opportunity for food.” Yaris poured caf out from a glass pitcher, handing a cup over to Anakin.

“Are you going to stay and eat with us?” He asked, still sleepy and content.

“Are you going to put any sort clothes on?”

“Caf first.”

“Then I'll kindly to take my leave.” She said with a smile. Yaris bowed respectfully to Obi-Wan, who nodded politely in turn before turning his attention back to his work.

There were more chocolates than yesterday, Anakin noticed with vicious delight. He had helped himself to two of them when Obi-Wan sat up a bit straighter, making a definitive swipe to the bottom of the data pad, signing something with a definitive mark.

“That's done then.”

“What's done? Also how do you take your caf?”

“Black, thank you.”

Anakin poured him a cup as Yaris had done for him. Normally he took his quite dark as well, but he couldn't pass up the luxury of readily available cream and sugar when it was sitting right there before him. There were even a variety of syrups in pretty vials to select from.

“Jabba's people sent on the treatise this morning. The access codes to your slave chip were included in the details.”

Anakin paused, the words taking a moment to sink in.

“What?” He set the cup down before it could drop through his fingers.

“You're no longer the property of the Hutts.”

Anakin's world tilted.

“You mean... really?”

“I can hardly take you to Coruscant if you can't get more than one town away from Jabba without going off like a little bomb.” Obi-Wan helped himself to a dish of strawberries, watching Anakin with carefully leveled interest.

“Coruscant?”

“Yes, my business here is finished. We'll be leaving tomorrow.” Obi-Wan took a bite of the supple fruit, his eyes heavy on Anakin. “You'll want to gather any personal affects you'd like to take with you.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Or in an hour, whichever you prefer” Obi-Wan leaned forward, touching Anakin's chin with his fingertips. “I can take you to the stars now if you'd like, we can be at the rim of the Vulpinus nebula before noon, watching two supergas giants collide while I ravish you in the pilot's seat”

A soft, strangled sound of longing drew up from the back of Anakin's throat.

The suddenly massive expanse of the galaxy and possibility opened up before him.

He wasn't free but... he felt something so close to it.

Something massive and terrifying and impossible to describe.

Anakin yielded to Obi-Wan's slow and careful kiss. He could feel him there, in his mind again, languishing in the sensation of Anakin's overwhelmed wonder.

“Unless you'd like to stay, of course.” Obi-Wan said breathlessly against Anakin's lips after they parted.

“Well...”

Obi-Wan faltered.

“ _Do you?_ Want to stay?” He looked alarmed.

“What? No!” Anakin righted himself at once. “No, I just meant – you should probably let me take a look at your ship first.” He explained. “Rumo's has barely done maintenance work on his own teeth in the last ten years. I should be the one to take the last look at your power converters before you take that ship back into hyperspace.”

“Very well then. I'll send one of the guards to go with you.”

“What? No I'll be fine.” Anakin laughed. He rolled over, moving to smack Obi-Wan playfully with a pillow. Or, at least he would have if the sheets hadn't flown up on their own through a slick use of the Force, leaving Anakin in a tangled bundle.

“Hey!” He wrestled his way out of the sheets, only to find himself suddenly face-to-face with Obi-Wan, pinned on his back against the bed.

“Very well.” Obi-Wan assented, in that low voice that made Anakin's insides curl with warmth. “But don't take too long.”

Anakin returned to the bedchambers, rummaging through the new wardrobe of clothing that had been assembled for him, finding the least flashy thing in the bunch. A dark, snug pair of pants and boots with bronze buckles at the below the knee. A loose top cinched in at the waist by a series of ties at the hips. Anakin didn't quite understand the point of them, but if the laces were not done up they were terribly loose and trailing posing a risk of being caught on different parts of the ship's engine.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Anakin still felt terribly done up and overdressed. He would have preferred to go down without any jewelry, but he had been warned that without earrings his holes would close, and he preferred not to have them pierced again. He chose a subdued pair of dark stones set in gold.

Descending through the floors of the palace, it was as if Anakin was walking in a different world. Servants avoided his gaze. Noblemen nodded to him in a genial – though hardly deferential – manner of something close to respect.

He realized they didn't quite know what to make of him. He had no collar, no mark of his station. But he was handsome and confident, more likely than not someone worthy of some modicum of respect. It certainly couldn't hurt for one to err on the side of caution than to risk offending someone important in when in the hospitality of the Hutts.

Anakin made his way down to the garage. The chemical tang of machine oil and metal tasted like something that others might have called home. The once-familiar coil of stress and dread that came with it struck him as foreign after just a few short days away.

Like a reflex, a tide of anxiety washed over him as he considered how far behind on his work he must be right now.

But... it wasn't _his_ work anymore, was it?

Could this really be the last time he'd be setting foot in this shop?

He punched in the access code to the garage, slipping inside.

“ _Watch it!_ ”

A pit droid piped at him, nearly running into Anakin's kneecaps as it tottered past.

“Oh, sorry.” He watched with surprise as a haphazard team of three of them bounced around the shop, carrying equipment back and forth and falling over one another.

Rumo had wasted no time enlisting some additional help, it seemed. He headed over to his workbench, fetching his toolbox.

“Can you get me a tub of sealant and a torque wrench?” Anakin asked one of the droid in binary. The bot beeped an affirmative in surprised delight, tottering off.

“I'll be with ye in just a moment!”

The besalisk spoke up from the other room, hearing the noise in the shop. He spoke with an overly-proper, grovelling tone he only took with the higher ups that deigned to grace him with their presence.

Anakin spared a dry laugh, heading over to the ship.

“It's fine, Rumo. I've got this.”

Anakin rolled up his sleeves as high as they'd go. Yaris wasn't going to be happy of the state he was about to leave this shirt in, but it couldn't be avoided.

Rumo rounded the corner, gaping blatantly at Anakin.

“Weeeell,” He drawled, two hands on his hips, the other crossed over his wide stomach. “Look whose come rollin around to mingle with the common folk.”

“I'm here to fix the ship and get my things, that's it.” He tied his hair back next, using the reflection of the shining hull as a rough approximation of a mirror.

He glanced over at Rumo, who was watching him with an unreadable expression.

“Alright, fix your ship. I got something for yeh though, so don't go wanderin off just yet.” He jabbed a finger at Anakin, before lumbering back into the other room.

Anakin watched him go curiously. Something for him?

“I don't suppose you guys know what that was about?” He looked to the two pit droids, who had returned with his additional tools. He took the wrench off of one, giving it a grateful pat on the head as he did.

“I guess you're my replacements, huh?” Anakin ducked under the hood of the ship, prying open the hatches covering up the converter shells. “Would have been handy to have you around before all this.” The third pit droid had peeked around some spare crates, watching him work.

Most of the heavy lifting had already been done by himself the other day outside of Mos Eisley. Anakin used an air pump to clean out the rest of the detritus that had gotten caught in the filters, and ensured that the converters were properly sealed, protecting them from future atmospheric jams.

“There! Not bad, huh?” Anakin slid out a half hour later, dusting himself off. The pit droids chattered and clapped in approval. He glanced up, seeing Rumo on the far end of the shop near the outside entryway.

He wasn't alone.

A stranger was there, the two conversing lowly.

They were watching Anakin.

The Najain'sa'Nikto was dressed in inconspicuous garb for Tattooine, shawls of white canvas over light armor, his face concealed by heavy goggles and helmet. Anakin could only discern his race from the telltale spikes that jutted out from his chin and the line of his skull.

There was something about the way he stood, it was far too focused, too still.

Anakin had a bad feeling about it.

The stranger nodded to Rumo and promptly strode off, disappearing from view.

“Who was that?” Anakin asked, as the besalisk rejoined him.

“Someone whose gonna make us both rich.” Rumo said, holding up more credits than Anakin had ever seen at one time between three hands.

“Us?” Anakin felt immediately unsettled. Nothing had ever been _them_ before. The line alone was enough to make Anakin feel queasy with unease. “The ship is fixed. I'm leaving.”

“Oh no you're not.” A massive hand clapped onto Anakin's shoulder, turning him around.

“Let go of me!”

“You're gonna listen to me first.” Anakin's back hit the hull of the ship. He instinctively brought his arms up around his head, a reflexive gesture from his adolescence.

Rumo gave Anakin a long, hard look, as if waiting for Anakin to rebel further. Shamefully, Anakin's jaw clamped tight, his hands in fists, shoulders tense and bowed. He folded neatly back into the same boy who left the garage three days ago, one who had never left.

“What do you know about that _sleemo_ whose cock you've been sucking for the past three days?”

“I know enough.” Anakin said tightly.

“Yeah? I'm sure you've seen one or two of his tricks.” He didn't take his eyes off of Anakin.

“You're going to have to start learning some tricks yourself y'know.” Anakin worked up enough nerve to bite back. “If you think that three pit droids are going to be able to pick up the slack when it's just yourself around here.”

Rumo threw his head back and laughed.

“Yeah, yeah... when you get swept off your feet by the handsome General and head off to Coruscant, right? Gonna live among those fancy Core Worlders like you ain't just a bilge rat from the back end of nowhere?” He grinned in a way that made Anakin's stomach churn.

“He's is!” Anakin snapped. “Taking me to Coruscant – Jabba transferred ownership of my chip this morning!”

“Yeah, yeah. You're gonna be a gold collar, right?” Rumo jabbed Anakin in the chest with a meaty finger. “Just like Jabba bought you to be a _pod racer._ What happened there?” He demanded, his voice rising sharply.

“After he got bored of you he figured he could make your worth back three times over in one afternoon by setting up your racer to crash in the middle of a race. Who saved you from that?” Rumo snarled, his fist banging off the side of the ship. Anakin flinched violently.

“You did.” He answered automatically and tonelessly.

“That's right I did. And that's exactly what I'm doin now.” Rumo jabbed Anakin's chest again “How long do you think you're gonna stay curled up at his feet? A year? Two? Your species don't stay pretty long. Do you have any idea how far a kid like you can fall on Coruscant after you've been sold? That planet has thousands of levels of darkness and you're gonna pass from one slaver to another and wish you were _dead_ before you hit the bottom.”

Anakin glared at the floor. His knees felt weak. A black pit of doubt had opened up in the center of his gut, now threatening to swallow him whole.

“ _Look,_ they aren't even asking you to hurt the guy.” Rumo waved one hand dismissively. “All you gotta do is one simple task, and send them one measly signal. It'll take less than a minute. In one minute,” He held up a finger, shaking it at Anakin. “You'll get _more_ than your freedom. You'll have enough money to live easy. A house of yer own, servants to order about, more droids than you can shake a stick at.” Rumo grinned broadly. “Who knows? You mother might even want you back in that lovely life of hers.”

“My mother?” Anakin asked the floor. His voice was weak.

Rumo produced a thin black case, taking out a sleek cuff.

“All you gotta do is get _this_ on him while his guard is down. His wrist, throat, whatever. It'll adhere to the shape.”

“What is that?” Anakin asked numbly.

“It ah, it stops all that nonsense.” Rumo waved two of his hands, wiggling the fingertips for emphasis. “That mumbo jumbo that he used to take over the Republic and turn it into an Empire. When he killed all the jedi.”

He opened and closed the vice of the collar to demonstrate how it worked, before packing it back away.

“It'll signal them once it's activated. They'll take care of the rest, and you'll have your freedom.”

Rumo placed the black case on Anakin's workbench.

“Or, don't. Live a few shiny years – if you're lucky – with a guy who probably has more pleasure slaves than he knows what to do with back in Coruscant. I'm sure an uneducated bilge rat you'll make your way just fine.”

The words followed heavily behind him as Anakin made his way into the crawlspace at the back of the garage.

It should have meant more to him – packing away all of the little things he had collected there over the years.

It didn't take long to clear out.

A half-assembled broken mouse droid.

Some of his favorite tools. A small pocket knife he'd won at a game of chance.

A branch of japor tree he never found time to do anything with.

All of the letters his mother sent him, the edges thumbed down to soft nubs from years of handling.

Anakin sat back against the dingy wall. He held the stack of letters in one hand, the slim black case in the other.

Acid churned in his stomach, the chemical rush of pure anxiety and stress washed through his system.

He leaned forward, wrapping his arms close around his legs, head tucked between his knees.

_Anakin._

He jerked forward, his head snapping up. There was something else flooding his senses now.

Concern. Alarm.

But not his.

_Anakin, are you alright?_

“Obi-Wan?” He murmured. “How are you doing that?”

_I sensed your distress._

Anakin choked out a dry laugh. He sniffled a bit, rubbing one eye. Despite himself, despite all of it – it felt good to hear Obi-Wan's voice after his confrontation with Rumo. It was as if the man were speaking in his ear, his voice warm and grounding.

“I'm alright.” He said thickly. “I just... coming back here was a bit harder than I thought.”

_Of course. Please, take whatever time you need._

Obi-Wan's presence lifted from Anakin's mind, leaving him alone again. Anakin sighed deeply, reaching over to touch the smooth black surface of the case.

A short while later, Anakin had gathered his things and headed out of the garage.

“Oh, is this for me?” One of the pit droids had been waiting there, insistently handing him an old mainframe. The wires had been bent and twisted into a deliberate, symmetrical shape.

“Thank you.” He smiled. “You guys take care of each-other, okay?”

From the far side of the garage, Rumo and the Nikto watched Anakin bid farewell to the pit droids and take his leave.

“Set his pod-racer to explode huh?”

The stranger asked, his arms crossed, his posture quite still.

“Our records show he's been here a while. Couldn't have been more than nine at the time he was purchased.”

“Just turned ten.” Rumo said, arms crossed. He was watching the door with beady eyes. “Not the worst thing the Hutt's ever done. Not by a long shot.”

“You talked him out of it?”

Rumo shrugged and tsk'd.

“The Hutts didn't know what they had on him.”

“No, I don't say they did. Do you?”

“Heh?” Rumo looked up at him, teeth half-bared in a questioning sneer.

“We initially bargained for Anakin's freedom in the agreement, in addition to your payment. I wonder how you would feel about a … lucrative adjustment to that arrangement.”

Rumo paused, eyeing him careful.

“Are you sayin what I think yer sayin?” He asked slowly, with a scowl.

* * *

When Anakin returned to the General's quarters, Obi-Wan was not alone.

Obi-Wan was slumped low on a sofa, looking immensely troubled.

It was not overtly apparent. His posture was still relaxed and at ease, but his eyes were quite far away. There was a ridge between his eyes that was more readily pronounced.

“ _He's requested an audience. That's good, isn't it? That he wants to talk to you?”_

“I do not sense that his mind has changed.” Obi-Wan murmured, not looking at the tall, graceful woman who stood before him.

“The last time we spoke, I gave him an ultimatum. If he's only looking to ridicule me once more, I will be forced to take action I would much prefer not to.”

Anakin lingered at the entryway, curious now.

“ _With all due respect,”_ She said carefully, as if the formality of the words tasted odd on her tongue. _“You gave all of those Jedi a choice. He made his. If it were up to me, I wouldn't even give him the time of day to-”_

“Yes, thank you Ventress.” Obi-Wan interrupted her pointedly. “Was there anything else you wished to discuss?”

“ _Hm, well now that you mention it.”_ She put a hand on her hip, her voice coming over quite snug. _“I had heard you picked up quite a bit more than trading concessions off on Tatooine-”_

Obi-Wan ended the transmission abruptly, heaving a strong sigh.

He ran his hand through his hair, leaning back on the sofa.

“It's alright, Anakin. I can sense you're there.” The stress already seemed to have abated from his voice a bit.

Hands tight on his box of things, Anakin peered around the corner.

“I didn't want to interrupt.”

“It's alright.” Obi-Wan said softly, as if coaxing a deer to approach out of the woods. “You still haven't seen me with a temper yet. I can only hope you forgive me if you ever do.”

Anakin set down the box near the sofa, drawn to Obi-Wan's side.

“I saw you right after you took that collar off of me, in front of Jabba and all of them. You looked ready to slaughter half the people in that room.”

“I was.” Anakin allowed himself to be wrapped up around Obi-Wan's arm, pressing his nose into the curve of his neck. Despite the ultimatum by Rumo – or perhaps because of it – he couldn't help seeking out the comfort that Obi-Wan provided, even as his heart churned and plagued with doubts.

A soft mental brush of Obi-Wan touched his own.

“It bothered you quite a bit to go back there, didn't it?” Obi-Wan's hand ran through Anakin's hair, though it didn't soothe him the way it had so effortlessly that morning.

The peace of that moment seemed terribly far away.

“I... don't want to talk about it.” Anakin murmured.

“Of course, dear one. Please, what can I do to help you?” He asked so plainly, without a hint of suggestion or pretense.

“Maybe – could I?” Anakin said uncertainly, as if just realizing how needful he was for it. He slid down the sofa, situating himself on his knees between Obi-Wan's legs.

“Anakin, you don't have to-”

“No, please I want to.” Anakin bowed his head, resting it against Obi-Wan's inner thigh. “Could you... could you put your hand on my head?” He asked weakly, his voice sounding thin and distant even to his own ears.

The familiar, warm weight settled there, bracing him between the base of his skull and the back of his neck. Anakin released a long breath he didn't realize he had been holding. He wasn't sure how to define it, something base and primal about being here, between Obi-Wan's powerful legs that managed to quiet all of the darkness that Rumo had poured into his mind, clouding it. Tension held between his shoulders loosened as he focused on the feeling of Obi-Wan's hand there, heavy and grounding.

There was a certain freedom in giving oneself up to another, Anakin thought. He leaned forward, nuzzling the line of Obi-Wan's cock through the fine material of his trousers, guided by the warm hand on the back of his neck.

Anakin didn't even know if he wanted to _do_ anything. He just... wanted to stay here, as long as Obi-Wan would let him.

Would Obi-Wan let him?

He mouthed at the outline of the half-hard organ, keening softly. His lips worried the hem of Obi-Wan's pants. They were the same loose pair he had slept it still, it was easy enough to work Obi-Wan's cock free using his teeth, swallowing it down with a certain desperation.

“Easy, Anakin.” Obi-Wan soothed, fingers knotting in his hair. “Like I showed you last night, that's it...” His voice went low and breathy as Anakin's jaw relaxed, letting him ease in.

Obi-Wan had shown him much more last night, his head between Anakin's legs, driving him to the edge and keeping him there for what felt like hours using only his throat and tongue, until Anakin was in tears from overstimulation.

Without a word spoken, both of them knew that this moment was to slake Anakin's need, not his master's. His movements were untidy an needy, tracing the swollen head of his cock, milking salty beads of pre-cum from the slit before swallowing him down again with a moan that was half desire, half desperation.

Perhaps Anakin had been looking for it, pushing Obi-Wan to do it with his fervor. He moaned with relief around Obi-Wan's cock as their bond opened, calming waves flooding through and drowning out the noise.

“That's it, relax...” Obi-Wan soothed. “You're safe. I have you.” His thumb stroked the dip of Anakin's cheek as his head slowly bobbed and moved, his eyes glazed over and blissful.

Obi-Wan tipped his head back on the base of the lounge with a low sigh. His cock was turgid and throbbing in Anakin's mouth. Anakin's tongue chased the pulse of swollen veins. Obi-Wan's hair gripped the back of his hair, and Anakin relished the pain.

“My dear, lovely one...”

 _Your species don't stay pretty long_.

Anakin chased the heavy bliss under Obi-Wan's hand, but like a hook in his stomach he felt himself lurched back. He blinked heavily, forcing himself to keep moving so Obi-Wan wouldn't notice the disruption.

Beside him, the box was still sitting by the chaise.

It was within arm's reach.

Obi-Wan's eyes were closed, his probing, clever mind scattered far away on the brink of release.

There would hardly be another moment like this one.

_I'm sorry, Obi-Wan._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off - apologies to everyone for leaving this story on a 3 1/2 month-long hiatus with a cliffhanger!  
> Thank you so much for everyone who commented and supported the story while I was writing it!

Anakin flew across the room, though not as far as he could have gone if Obi-Wan could have put the Force behind the throw.

A inhibitor collar was locked around his ankle, beeping an ominous red.

“Traitor!” He roared, though his eyes were unable to shine their sithly gold, burning now with fury that was purely his own His hackles raised, teeth bared.

“How long were you planning to betray me? From the beginning?” He demanded, his voice cracked and broken with world-weary hurt.

Outside, one could hear the rapid scuffle of Obi-Wan's guards engaging with the assassins storming the wing.

Both of their eyes went at once to the lightsaber on the table beside the sofa and lunged at once for it.

Obi-Wan's body shut off from the Force for the first time in years was slow and heavy. He was closer, but Anakin got there first.

Obi-Wan immediately jumped back, assessing his surroundings as Anakin faced him breathlessly, the sword ignited and blazing red.

Obi-Wan laughed, harsh and angry.

“You don't know how to use that thing, _boy.”_

The door exploded outwards, the Nikto from the garage bursting in.

“No, but _I do.”_

A green lightsaber was lit in one hand, the other flung outwards. Obi-Wan was thrown bodily across the room, slammed into the wall opposite and held suspended above the ground.

“Stay back,” Rumo's hand pressed against Anakin's chest, shoving him aside.

“General Di,” Obi-Wan laughed, though it sounded odd and compressed from the massive weight of the Force crushed against his ribcage. “I was wondering where you'd scuttled off to.”

“This ends _today_ , Darth.”

“Is it just you on your lonesome out here?” Obi-Wan's voice pitched higher toward the end of the sentence. The Nikto's fist half-clenched, now making Obi-Wan's voice sound as though his windpipe was roughly obstructed. “Surely...” He wheezed, each breath more difficult than the last. “You weren't sent to challenge me alone?”

“It seems I am more than enough for the task.” Ima-Gun-Di said with a vicious relish.

Obi-Wan's grimace of pain turned at once into a refined scowl. He heaved a weary sigh.

“So be it.”

He dropped to the ground with a seismic thud, the tiled mosaic of the floor cracking beneath him. He straightened up, his eyes burning gold.

“I had hoped to catch a bigger fish, I must say.” He threw his hand out. Di's lightsaber shot out of his hand like a bolt. His arms twisted and contorted like a marionette with cut strings, jerking painfully behind his back, knees falling to the ground.

“What the-” Rumo's hand flew to his blaster, only to find blaze of a red burning saber trained against his meaty throat.

“Stay back.” Anakin warned.

“You!” Rumo rounded on Anakin, quickly purpling with rage. “You – you interfered with the collar?”

“Your toy? Yeah. Took me ten minutes in the garage while you were figuring out the most lucrative way to double-cross me.” Anakin said with a tight smile.

All of Rumo's eyes went wide.

“You couldn't have overheard that.”

“No, just a bad feeling. That's for confirming it though.” Anakin said darkly.

“You stupid fool!” Rumo roared, seizing and lunging at him. Anakin didn't step back or falter with the saber. His stance was sure, as though he were made to hold the blade.

Rumo was forced to lurch back at the last possible moment, realizing that Anakin was not going to flinch or shy away. His eyes narrowed, voice low.

“So that's it then? You wanna remain a slave?”

“If freedom means betraying him, I'll do without it, thanks.” Anakin murmured. He glanced aside to Obi-Wan. In that moment, he couldn't possibly have meant it more. There was a _lightness_ to Obi-Wan's being that was immediately and resolutely breathtaking.

Anakin realized with sudden clarity that he was going to become joyously, ravenously addicted to Obi-Wan's pride in him.

Rum spluttered and snarled, swinging his meaty fists.

“I offered you everything! I _gave_ you everything! And this is how you repay me? You stupid, worthless bilge rat-”

Anakin drew himself up to full height, fire blazing in his eyes. The well of fierce, righteous joy cauterized in that moment to something powerful and red-hot within him. Swelling up and spilling forth.

“I am a _person_ , and my name is _Anakin_!”

He threw his arm out as a rush of energy surged around him. Rumo was swept off of the ground, crashing over several pieces of furniture before slamming into the wall with a sickening crack.

The silence fell heavily around them. Obi-Wan flicked his wrist, causing Ima-Gun Di to seize up and collapse, unconscious. He dusted himself, smoothing out his hair as he turned heel to face Anakin.

“You're full of surprises, dear one.”

Anakin was still watching Rumo's limp form with a mix of exhilaration and horror.

What had just happened? Had _he_ done that?

“In hindsight, it all does seem terribly obvious I've been ignoring quite the crucial detail.” That flicker of light, genuine beauty was gone from Obi-an. In its place had returned to his usual calm, clinical tone. He stroked his beard thoughtfully, looking distant.

Beneath the calm veneer, he sounded... pained.

“Perhaps I simply did not want to face it. I had seen through your mind time and again and sensed no ill will, and was content to leave it at that. It allowed me to turn a blind eye to the obvious.”

Obi-Wan cupped Anakin's cheek, forcing him to look away from Rumo's prone body. He brushed Anakin's cheek with his thumb. His eyes were once again a clear, pale blue and aching with a quiet sort of sadness.

“Are you alright, sir?”

Obi-Wan's guard who had been sent away in order to minimize conflict were returning back to the wing as scheduled.

“I'm fine, thank you.” Obi-Wan tore his gaze away from Anakin. “Did you bring the force inhibiting collar? Good, please see to our guest here.” He gestured to Gun-Di, then turned to a second guard. “Have the bombs on the terrace on the floor below been disarmed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good man. Call Commander Cody and have him bring an armada out from its holding pattern in orbit to prevent any potential incoming blockades. I want the airspace above Tattooine secure within the hour.”

Anakin was bewildered at the speed in which Obi-Wan had managed to take apart what sounded like a very meticulous and well thought-out assassination plan. He hadn't even been terribly surprised when Anakin revealed the impending attack – particularly considering at the time Anakin had been situated between Obi-Wan's knees, drawing him close to what likely would have been a very enjoyable orgasm.

Rather Obi-Wan appeared to have been expecting it – and already had most of the details worked out. Anakin (it seemed) was only ever meant to be a linchpin, a final cauterizing element to seal Gun-Di's chances of success by removing Obi-Wan's ability to use the force and giving the rouge Jedi the element of surprise.

“Anakin?”

“Yes?” He looked up, startled.

“I'll have that back now.” Obi-Wan held out his hand for his lightsaber.

Anakin looked down at the weapon, stealing one last moment to appreciate the weight and balance of the lovely thing before handing it over.

“Yeah, of course.” He held it out, only for the saber to fly out from under Anakin's fingers and back to Obi-Wan's. Obi-Wan kept his eyes on Anakin the entire time, something stern chilling over his expression.

“How does it compare?” He asked, with a soft smile.

“What do you mean?”

“To other lightsabers.”

“What?” Anakin did a double take. “That's... the first time... I've never held one before.”

“Ah. You were trained only in mental exercises of the Force then?”

“I – I've never been trained in the Force!” Anakin said hotly. “I've been a slave my entire life!”

Obi-Wan stepped forward, his gaze hot and intent on Anakin. He could _feel_ Obi-Wan in his mind, seized his words as if they were borne up offerings to some old god, sifting through the grain for the dark poison shadow of half-truths.

“What are you doing? _Get out of my head_!” He stepped forward angrily as he spoke. Once again, Anakin found a half-dozen blasters trained on him as Obi-Wan's guards rounded on him.

“That's enough, thank you.” Obi-Wan waived them off. Obi-Wan turned heel and strode into the master bedroom, beckoning Anakin to follow.

Anain huffed, shuffling in place a bit before following along.

He paused, glancing again at Rumo's prone body. One of Obi-Wan's guards prodded him with the end of a blaster, causing him to groan angrily.

Releasing a breath he didn't realize he had been holding, Anakin followed after Obi-Wan.

He sat on the end the bed, hugging his knees while Obi-Wan paced with growing agitation about the room. His skin crawled.

They had done it, hadn't they? The rouge jedi had been apprehended. Obi-Wan was safe.

Why did he feel more agitated than ever now?

Suddenly, Obi-Wan snarled in an outburst of rage. He turned to the side, his fist cracking and splintering the column beside him. It caused Anakin to jump in alarm.

“What the _kark_?” Anakin yelled, angry and startled and on edge.

“Apologies,” Obi-Wan smoothed out his hair and clothing, as if his knuckles were not bleeding from his own making. “I try not to let others see my anger get the best of me.”

Anakin forced himself to breathe, drawing up his knees to hug his legs.

“Was that guy a friend of yours?” Anakin asked. His throat felt tight.

“What?” Obi-Wan paused, looking at Anakin incredulously. “Gun-Di? No. He was always a fine Jedi but – is that what you think this is about?”

“It's about the other thing?” Anakin wiggled his fingers, mimicking the Force as Rumo had done just a few hours ago.

Obi-Wan's jaw went slack.

“ _Yes._ It's about _that.”_ Obi-Wan said coolly, enunciating each word with his distinct core accent that made Anakin's toes curl. He rubbed the back of his neck, antsy. Now didn't seem like the time to be letting his _thing_ for Obi-Wan's voice to distract him.

“When I disbanded the Jedi order, I gave all of those involved a choice.” Obi-Wan said, suddenly sounding quite composed and distant.

“They could swear loyalty to me, to the Empress. Or, they could accept an early retirement in exile.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Anakin snapped, his cheeks still felt quite hot. “I'm not a Jedi!”

“No, you're simply a Force-gifted individual who _happened_ to come into my life at a fortuitous moment to curb an assassination attempt.” Obi-Wan said with an angry wave of his hand. “Winning over my trust and loyalty in the process, making me feel-” He shook his head angrily, turning away from Anakin to resume his rapid pacing.

Anakin threw his hands up, exasperated. “What, you think this is all still some plot? Who would go through so much trouble?”

“I did, once.” Obi-Wan said sharply, watching him with narrow-gold eyes. “How do you think I managed to fool both the Jedi and the Sith? I've been thinking four steps ahead of every move any enemy or ally in my world since I was a padawan.” He tilted his head in Anakin's direction, his expression sharp and stinging in its careful neutrality.

“Until you.”

Anakin breathed out sharply through his nose.

“So what now then?” He leaned back on his hands in a forced position of angry nonchalance. “I already pledged my loyalty to you, I gave up a chance at freedom so I could stay by your side!” He leaned forward on the bed, feeling dangerously close to tears.

“Are you going to send me away?”

Obi-Wan's breath caught, his expression full and aching with the regret mirrored in Anakin's eyes.

He realized – with keen horror – that Obi-Wan was considering just it.

It would be the smart thing to do, after all. Remove this undefined, incalculable variable from his plan. The odds that this entire situation being less than happenstance were too high to ignore. What would it cost, in the grand scheme of things for the good of the Empire?

To cut off the last little piece of his heart.

Anakin was reminded of that night he saw Obi-Wan under the moonlight, half-broken under the weight of the crown he wore.

He stood, crossing the abyss to stand before Obi-Wan, his back straight and head tall.

Anakin must have imagined it, a flicker of fear behind Obi-Wan's eyes as the tips of Anakin's fingers reached out to graze the back of his hand.

“What do _you_ want, Obi-Wan?”

Anakin watched as the steely resolve behind his flawless composure flecked and cracked.

Obi-Wan moved forward, taking Anakin's face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together.

“I want...” He breathed, shifting forward. Anakin allowed himself to be pushed onto his back on the bed, covered by Obi-Wan's body. His face buried against Anakin's neck, his lips on the dip of his neck.

“I want... a gold collar on your throat.”

A high, needful sound slipped past Anakin's lips.

“I want you to be mine. Only mine, not the Empire's. Not the Sith Lord I've forged myself into.” Teeth sunk into Anakin's neck, marking and claiming him. Anakin's back arched, his toes curled.

“Trained by my enemies or not... I want you at my side, at my heel.” Obi-Wan's eyes burned gold, looking at Anakin with a fierce possessiveness that should have put him on edge. Instead, Anakin sank into the touch, letting himself go pliant under Obi-Wan's control.

“Master...” He breathed, his voice a ragged whisper.

“My Apprentice,” Obi-Wan spoke like teeth sinking into the jugular. He seized a vicious, bruising kiss from Anakin, whose vision went bright with scattered stars.

* * *

From above, Tattooine looked about as ugly as it did on the ground.

The only saving grace Anakin could reasonably consider was a hazy sheen on bright blue ozone surrounding the rim of the miserable rock.

A bit like the salt canyon, a hint of something lovely that needed just the right point of view to appreciate.

“After all the lovely things Yaris packed for you...”

“It's cold in space.” Anakin said with a grin, brandishing his fine cloak and admiring himself now in the reflection of the transparasteel.  
  
While the outfit didn't show quite as much skin as he had on Tattooine, it was still lovely and finely made. Snug black trousers were tucked into long boots that hugged the calf. Under the cloak, Anakin wore a fine tunic of black silk, expertly embroidered with an intricate brocade of even darker thread, only barely visible against the fabric. Subtle hemming of gold matched the single earring he wore, a long, light and delicate bar of gold.

Anakin sighed as Obi-Wan pressed up behind him, wrapping his arms around his middle.

“I'll have to correct the temperature at once.” He could feel Obi-Wan's lips warm against the back of his neck.

“You'll sweat out your entire squadron just to get me to dress down?” Anakin laughed, melting into Obi-Wan's embrace.

“Alright,” Anakin conceded with a grin. “It's just until we get mom and Lars to Fehpo.”

“I thought as much.”

Before they had left Tattooine, Obi-Wan's fleet had made an important stop at a humble moisture farm. After a truly tearful reunion between Anakin and his mother, he and Obi-Wan had presented Shmi with the opportunity to take her family off-world to live under the Empire's protection in a peaceful central planet.

Contrary to what Anakin had expected, it had been Lars who had convinced Shmi to leave the Outer Rim, rather than the other way around. He had been the one to point out the sand raiders getting worryingly bold during the last two dry seasons. As much as Anakin still needed time to warm up to Lars, he was grateful for his calm and yielding stance on the matter.

While it escaped Shmi's attention, Lars seemed to understand quite well that the new homestead on the quaint farming planet was likely far less optional than it appeared when presented to them.

For the duration of their journey, Shmi had kept a carefully wary eye on the Grand General. 

“She'll understand in time.” Anakin murmured, nuzzling more insistently against Obi-Wan's neck.

Beneath them, the ship began to thrum with a faint, but noticeable energy.

“We'll be making the jump to light-speed in just a moment.” Obi-Wan pointed out. Anakin's eyes went wide . He tore away from Obi-Wan to press his hands against the transparasteel glass. He shouted out with delight as the stars stretched and whirled around them, turning the galaxy into a striated into a cosmic whorl of light.

“Next time we'll have to watch from the bridge, the view is far more impressive.”

“How long will it take us to get to the Core?”

“We'll be stopping on Rebuai first – only a few hours away at this rate. There's someone that we need to see.”

-

The stone floor was cool but clean against Anakin's knees. Obi-Wan's hand heavy on the back of his neck, grounding him as his stomach fluttered with nervous excitement. It had been three days since Anakin had helped circumvent the plot to assassinate Obi-Wan.

The smell of the castmaster's forge was quite different from Rumo's garage. There was the scent here of burning metal – but there was something _pristine_ about it. A preciseness about the artisans movements that was captivating to watch.

He had always loved working with his hands and with metal and tools. He had never considered it could be something _beautiful_ before.

Seeing the display, Anakin felt a curl of hot shame over his initial indifference to have a gold collar specially forged in the traditional way. One of the standard-issue ones would have been fine. He didn't care that the gold was often cut with cheaper metals, as long as it came from Obi-Wan.

_There is no shame in submission, when the one you give yourself to is worthy of it._

She had said, eight arms moving in an intricate way to stoke the fires and cut pure bullion as if it were clay.

She moved around a dark stone cast - her attention on it as the black rock slowly heated to a bright cherry-red. From a small hole in the top, the glow of liquid gold could be seen bubbling at the surface. Dark eyes turned to Obi-Wan.

_Do you have your token?_

Anakin had heard of this before, in passing. Traditional collars forged with a token from their master. Traditionally, a ring from their finger. But Obi-Wan didn't wear rings, and he was quite certain that nobody really did this this part of it genuinely anymore. It was an old tradition, one considered to be particularly lavish.

To his astonishment, Anakin watched Obi-Wan produce a lightsaber from the folds of his robe. Not the one he held at his waist, but a different one that he palmed with careful reverence.

“This was my lightsaber, once.” Obi-Wan spoke to Anakin. The castmaster's head was politely bowed, recognizing the privacy of the moment. “It belonged to me when I was a different person. Possibly... a better one.”

Obi-Wan held the weapon out in front of him, focusing intently. The hilt clicked an whirred, separating into a hundred tiny and intricate pieces. From within the hilt, one piece in particular emerged. Anakin recognized it for what it was, a bolt meant to serve as a stabilizing heat conductor.

A ring of gold.

It carefully floated over to the kiln, where Obi-Wan allowed it to lower into the pot of bubbling liquid metal.

_Very good._ The castmaster nodded. She waved her hand over the cairn. The lid closed, steam hissing out of vents at the base. That searing gaze turned on Anakin now. _With this you will be with one another, as long as you wear his mark. Give him your life. Want for nothing in return._

From the kiln, she produced a flawlessly tempered circlet of gold.

Anakin flinched as she presented it to Obi-Wan with a respectful nod of the head. He expected it to burn, but Obi-Wan handled it easily. She retreated to the shadows, leaving the two of them in a pool of pale sunlight streaming down from the skyhole at the mouth of the forge.

“Are you sure that you want this, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked.

“What?” Anakin said breathlessly. “Of course I do!” The words were practically pulled from him. His hands fell forward onto the cold ground. “I've been waiting for this ever since you first dragged me into your wing of the palace!” He felt a near hysteric bubble of laughter rise up in him.

“Yes, I have as well.” Obi-Wan said with a comforting smile. “Tilt your head back.”

The metal was not hot but pleasantly warm to the touch, almost a perfect match to the heat of his skin. Anakin couldn't help but think of the girl's collar that had been used to strangled him weeks prior. This one fit him perfectly.

It felt a part of him.

The latch sealed closed at the back of his neck. With it, a shudder of exhilaration ran up Anakin's spine.

He looked up at Obi-Wan, whose eyes were dark with possessive desire. Beneath that though, there was an undeniable lightness about his being. Obi-Wan's hands ran down Anakin's arms, taking his hands and drawing him up to his feet.

“I want... to give something to you.” Anakin realized, pressing close to Obi-Wan. He felt strangely vulnerable, tears pricked the corners of his eyes. The collar was lighter than he expected. He felt it, just barely. He was already helplessly in love with the feel of it. Each breath he took serving a barely-there reminder of Obi-Wan' claim on him.

“You are.” Obi-Wan purred, stroking Anakin's soft locks. “You're giving me yourself. This is for me.” Obi-Wan touched the throat of Anakin's collar.

“ _This_ , is for you.” Obi-Wan held up a piece of the light saber that had been left behind between his index and middle finger. A little shard of rock, or was it a gem? It was suffused with a warm blue light. Obi-Wan lifted it carefully with the force, directing it into Anakin's outstretched palm.

It touched down warm on his skin. It felt alive.

It felt like _Obi-Wan_.

“It's not traditional, but the crystal will not accept me since the time of my fall. But... I can already feel how much it – loves you.”

“I feel it too.” Anakin said, his voice ragged.

The tears that had been threatening to lay low Anakin's dignity finally fell in heavy drops down his cheeks. He clutched the kyber crystal to his chest as Obi-Wan drew him into a tight embrace.

* * *

That evening, Anakin was laid bare before his master on his grand space cruiser, taken and driven to completion with stars in his eyes under the blur of a thousand star systems rushing by. Anakin watched them and promised himself to make the trip again some day, to stop at every star.

Obi-Wan's fingers carded through his soft hair, soothing him as he slipped closer to sleep. Their legs were comfortably tangled up in one another, Anakin feeling safe and warm surrounded by the scent and

ineffable presence of his master.

His eyes drooped closed, his breathing even.

As he danced on the precipice of sleep, Anakin could half hear the sound of a rich and lovely voice singing a forgotten memory.

-

_For all the gold and all the jewels,_

_will never match your beauty._

_I only want your love my dear_

_within my heart, residing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for following along! Also MANY thanks to the very talented Mashimero for her gorgeous fanart for this chapter!!


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